The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me
by traveller19
Summary: After Loki is punished for his crimes, he and Thor are sent back to Midgard to help the Avengers rebuild Manhattan. But when it becomes obvious that Loki is unwell physically as well as mentally, relationships are strained and healed as well as created. Rated T for the occasional language and frequent in-depth descriptions of illness and medical procedures.
1. Chapter 1

**Before you dive in to the story, let me reassure you that this fic is already completely finished. I will update twice a week (hopefully Tuesdays and Fridays). There will be 27 chapters and an epilogue, which will be posted at the same time as the final chapter. If there are any changes to this format, I will try to let you know, but rest assured that this story WILL be completed, and the updates will be regular. I also really, really love reviews (except for flames, of course), so please let me know what you think! With that, I hope you enjoy "The Door That Shouldn't Be in Front of Me".**

_Broken._

That was what they called him. Not to his face, of course-they would never be that blatant in their gossip. But he heard their whispers, their soft voices through his walls and door.

They were wrong, really, or at the very least inaccurate. _Shattered_, that was what he was. Reduced from a once-powerful figure, a master of sorcery, a _king_, to nothing but a shadow, robbed of his essence, his being, his _everything._

He had been brought before the Allfather, his wrists still chained together, the iron gag still encircling his mouth in an ironic mockery of an embrace. _All the better for Odin_, he had thought acerbically, laughing in his head, _that I am unable to say aloud what I am thinking. He would be shocked at what came from the mouth of his quiet, introverted, youngest son. And the first thing I would say would be to deny that title. He is nothing more to me than a thief is to a string of jewels he has stolen. I am the object of some passing fancy entwined between the fingers of one who plans only to sell it to the highest bidder. He is not my father. I have committed the most unforgivable act in the Nine Realms, and the patricide hurt me no more than it does now to glare jeeringly at him-the one who called himself my father. I have no father._

It had been Odin's captain of the guard who had brought him before the king-he had been separated from Thor in the antechamber to the throne room. Thor had tried to argue with the captain, saying that he wished to stay with his brother, to be by his side when his sentence was pronounced. _What could you do for me, you fool?_ Loki had thought. _Hold my hand while they tell me I am to be executed? As if that would somehow mitigate the coldness of the truth? Or would you beg the Allfather for mercy on my poor, twisted soul? No. We both know how this will end._

He had fully expected to be dead come sunrise, and he had been prepared to face it. It was over. He had failed. Midgard remained free, he was a king with no kingdom, and it really was not worth even trying anymore. There was nothing left for him.

He had staunchly refused to kneel before the Allfather, staring defiantly into Odin's eye, his chapped and parched lips curling into a smile behind the metallic bitterness of the gag. He would go out with his pride and dignity still intact.

_In the end, you will always kneel._

He had kept his gaze fixed upon the Allfather, making a point of not looking at Frigga, who stood at Odin's side. He could feel her eyes on him. They had not seen each other since he had fallen-fallen into a world of darkness and depravity, where monsters conjured illusions that bent your mind backwards and twisted it around upon itself over and over until the only way you could escape the insanity was to yourself go insane. Frigga had believed him dead, he knew-_Did you mourn? We all __did._-and he was sorry for having caused her grief. Though he knew now that she was not his true mother, her wrongs against him had been small compared to everyone else's, and she had shown him love and care and loyalty. It was she who had put Gungnir in his hand, who had first bowed down to him as her king. She had supported him, believed in him. But it was too late for reconciliation now. Better to spare them both the pain.

Odin had stood and read off his crimes. Loki had found the length of the list rather impressive. At least he could say he had accomplished _something_ before his chance to do so had been wiped away forever. But as prepared as he had been to die-after all, he had tried to bring about the same result himself no so long ago, dangling off of the shattered remains of the Bifrost-he could not help but feel a small flame of fear flick at his insides, leaving small burn marks in his entrails. He had been almost able to feel the intensity and worry in Thor's gaze from where the thunderer stood behind him, separated from him by the captain of the guard.

But the sentence had not been death. Loki should have guessed, really-Odin would never have done something so conventional, especially not to-in the eyes of everyone watching, at least-his own son. No, it had been something far, _far_ cleverer.

The small candle-glimmer of fear sparked into a wildfire of terror as the Allfather approached, arms outstretched. Not _this._ Not what he had worked so hard for, had been practicing and perfecting for over a millennium. What would his life be without his magic? But of course, that had been the king's angle.

Loki had backed up a step unconsciously as Odin stepped toward him, feeling the stiff, restrictive hands of the captain of the guard on his back. But then the Allfather had done something that had surprised him-he had motioned for the captain to remove the gag. Loki had licked his cracked, stinging lips and wondered at the reason for this small portion of freedom. Was Odin trying to apologize for what he was about to do? To show him some sort of compassion? This thought was affirmed when the king spoke, _kindly_,

"Fear not, my son. This is only for your own safety and that of your keepers. What is yours will be returned to you when you have proved yourself worthy of it."

The words had been ironically gentle, considering that Odin had done the same thing with Thor's prized possession not so many months ago and had yelled his way through the condemnation. Loki had glared at the king yet again, for he was determined to resist bowing to whatever level Odin required of him. His desire to fight against his so-called father's will burned even deeper than his attachment to his magic.

All the same, he had wanted so badly to fight what he knew was coming when Odin laid his hands on him, the ancient, calloused fingertips barely touching Loki's own. It was all the contact that was needed. Loki had watched sorcerers who had misused their gifts being stripped of their powers before. They had stood dignified and silent through the whole process, as he now did, like a prisoner being led to execution. But he would not resist. He would not give Odin the satisfaction.

But then it had started, and suddenly Loki had had no idea how any of those sorcerers had managed to stay calm and upright. The pain had been _incredible_, so much so that if his mind had not been so overcome by it, he might have found it interesting to step back and watch it from a distance, from another, imagined perspective. But it had been too overwhelming, and he could think of nothing but the agony.

It had begun at his fingertips, his only point of contact with Odin. It was as though someone had grabbed his hand and held it into a flame, but no matter how hard he tried to pull it away, he could not. From there, it had spread up his arms and quickly throughout his entire body. Every inch of his skin was on fire. The blood pounded in his head as though all the veins in his body would burst. His insides burned as though someone had held his mouth open and poured acid into it and forced him to swallow, and his guts felt like some unseen hand was reaching in and twisting them around like a strand of hair about a finger.

He had heard himself scream, and he was barely aware of falling to his knees. (_In the end..._) From somewhere far away, he had heard Thor yelling, and then the sound of someone being pushed aside-he imagined the foolish captain of the guard had tried to stop the god of thunder, and had of course failed miserably. He had also heard Frigga cry out from near the throne, but the pain was so intense that he could no longer distinguish the significance of it. And by the time he had felt Thor's presence, kneeling next to him on the cold floor, Loki had curled up on his side and vomited. He had not even possessed the ability to feel humiliated about it-this torture did not allow for him to think of anything else, just the anguish. He was certain that every single organ, every _molecule_ of his body was being ripped out of him, starting at the inside and working out.

After an eternity, the pain had finally eased, but still Loki had lain trembling on the floor, unable to move. He wished so much that he could have faded into the blissful embrace of unconsciousness, but it was not to be. For the Allfather was not finished.

Both Frigga and Thor had protested simultaneously. _"How could you? He is your son! Odin, something is wrong, no sorcerer has ever reacted like that to the extraction before!" "Father, surely he has suffered enough, he cannot take any more! Look at him!"_

_Yes, look at him. Look at the one who would be lord of all Midgard, the leader of the most dangerous army in the Nine Realms, he who can manipulate anyone, spin any lie, master any illusion. Bound like a common criminal, curled up on the floor like a dog. Pathetic. A failure. Worthy of mockery and laughter and cruelty._ Or at least, that was what Loki _would_ have thought, if he could only have stopped _shaking_ long enough to make his mind function linearly. As it was, all his brain, still reeling from the shock of the extraction, could manage was _No, no please. I cannot...please._

Pathetic, indeed.

But the Allfather would not be swayed. Justice had to be served. Loki was a murderer. No, that was...he had killed people. He had directly caused people to die. And he had to pay for his crimes. Odin had said that he should consider himself fortunate that his punishment would simultaneously provide such an opportunity to learn from his mistakes.

Fortunate. He had doubted very much that that was how he would feel when he came out of it. And he had been correct.

The captain and another guard had moved toward him. Thor had turned on them like a she-wolf defending her pup, an almost animalistic instinct to protect overcoming him. He had reached for Mjolnir, but the hammer was of course not at his belt-all weapons were stripped at the entrance to the throne room. Odin had barked at him to back down, and Thor had turned to stare at the Allfather, blue eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. That moment had given the guards enough time to pull Loki to his feet and force him away from Thor. They had practically had to drag him, for Loki had found that he had difficulty getting his legs to support his weight. Odin had placed a threateningly firm hand on Thor's arm, its touch warning the thunderer of the consequences if he tried to interfere with Loki's sentence. But it had not stopped Thor from yelling his name, his voice breaking.

_Sentiment, _Loki had thought acidly as he struggled to stay upright even as the guards gripped beneath his arms. But deep within the recesses of his mind, buried far beneath the forefront from which that stinging thought came, his subconscious had whimpered Thor's name, softly and pitifully.

The punishment that Odin had devised was genius, really. That Loki had to admit.

Rather than the dungeons, they had brought him to his bedchamber, the place that had always provided him with the most comfort and protection. Reading on his bed on a rainy day, studying his lessons at the desk, curled up next to Thor in the bed when they had, on a whim, decided to spend the night together as children, giggling and talking the night away until a disapproving Frigga had come in to tell them to either be quiet and go to sleep that instant or Thor would have to go back to his own chamber. And then Loki would curl up and fall asleep with Thor's arms around him, feeling warm and safe.

_More sentiment. You pathetic fool._ He had forced the thoughts away, the heat of his anger at himself a sudden contrast with the coldness of his thoughts up until that point. But he had had no time to dwell on the significance of it.

The guards had bade him change into his nightclothes, waiting just outside the door so that he might have some privacy. He had moved slowly, still unsteady and shaky. He felt empty and cold without his magic. Always before this, his powers had been there, a sort of energy humming around him, always within reach and granting him strength. A part of him. Now when he reached out, there was nothing there, and the feeling was unnerving. He felt weak and exposed. He knew he should be relishing these last few moments of so-called freedom, but so much did the thought of what lay ahead sicken him that he could not even think of enjoying himself.

A knock sounded at the door just as he was finishing the last button of his nightshirt.

"I am ready," he called softly, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed. That was a lie. He was far from ready.

The guards had reentered, flanked by Odin. The Allfather had ordered him to lie in the bed as though he were getting ready to sleep. Loki had not resisted that time-he had had no power or strength to do so. He had obeyed the order silently and resolutely, lying on his back against his pillows and pulling his comforter around himself, the motion automatic as he tried to find some form of comfort as he awaited the horrors ahead of him.

The son of the king, even the adopted son, could not be thrown in a dungeon and left to rot, no matter how hideous his crimes. The punishment needed to be quick, but effective. So Odin had decreed that Loki sleep for one turn of the sun and moon-the Midgardian equivalent of twenty-four hours. Although the time seemed short on the face of it, dreams last mere seconds, and his sleep was to be filled with dreams. Nightmares. He was to have a nightmare about every single person that he had hurt or killed on Midgard, from their point of view. He was to know their fear as he stood over them, scepter aimed. He was to feel their pain as they quivered, whimpered, writhed, and died. He was to experience the grief of their family members when they learned that their loved ones would not be coming home.

His fractured, twisted mind should have relished this-after all, had he not caused all of this for the _enjoyment_ of pain? But watching it was one thing-experiencing it, he knew, was quite another. He wondered if Odin knew about the nightmares that had plagued his childhood. He had dreamed terribly often of the Frost Giants, who were then the terrifying monsters of his father's tales. The worst had been when he had dreamed that he was one of them, a cruelly ironic foreshadowing of a very real nightmare that would befall him years later, when he would learn that the most terrifying illusions of his childhood were real. He had never told either of his parents about his dreams-he had been certain that his father especially had already thought him a weakling up next to his brave older brother, and that knowledge would have enhanced the unwanted image all the more. Instead, he had looked to Thor for comfort, his own personal source of warmth and love and companionship. He would sneak into his brother's chamber, clamber into bed with him, and cry while Thor rubbed his back and spoke softly to him. And then everything had been all right, and they would sleep together for the rest of the night, Thor's arms wrapped protectively around Loki. Loki would always think in those moments that nothing could hurt him; that he was safe from whatever horrors the world had to offer. How innocent he had been! How foolish, how delusional. He had allowed himself, in the innocence of his childhood, to be fed lies about how life truly operated. He knew the truth now. For every action, there was a consequence, and nightmares could be even more real than you ever imagined.

He had closed his eyes before Odin could lay his hand on his brow, so he did not know the precise moment in which he fell asleep. But he did know when the nightmares began.

Although each dream had been different from the last, the lack of repetition had not made the experiences any easier. Not so long ago, Loki had fallen so deeply into despair that he had tried to end his own life, and he had come so close to succeeding that he had thought he knew what it was like to be on the brink of nonexistence. But he had been wrong, he realized. The plethora of emotions that runs through someone's head in the last moments of their life ranges from sheer terror to nostalgia to sadness to worry about the loved ones they are leaving behind. Time and again he saw himself, standing aloft, full of his own desires and plans as innocent people lay dying around him, not necessarily at his hand, but definitely by his will.

The worst, he thought, was anything involving children. There had been a young, single mother who had just happened to be walking home from the store when the Chitauri had attacked. Loki had become her, just as he had become all of the others. One of the hideous creatures drove its spear through his gut, laughing cruelly as it did. Loki had screamed in agony-for the thousandth time now, it must have been. He reached a trembling hand up to the wound in his abdomen, and winced as he drew it back, hot, sticky blood coating his fingers. As his vision began to fade, he thought of the little girl back at home, only four years of age, and how heartbroken she would be when she learned that she would never see her mother again. Who would care for her now, that her only provider, her only source of love was gone forever? It was a terrible last thought, but it had been the one the mother had died thinking-and that _he_ had died thinking, for the dream had changed once more.

Perhaps the oddest, and yet some of the most terrifying of the nightmares had been the ones from the point of view of the people whose minds he had warped to serve him, particularly those of Clint Barton and Erik Selvig. Loki had told Fury and his people that freedom was life's great lie. But what he had not realized when he had spoken those words was that one of the most priceless things one can possess is the freedom to _think_. To have that taken away, to have your identity stripped and replaced, to become someone else against your will-that was the truest form of dehumanization. Loki had writhed as he felt the fingers of the Tesseract's power and his own malice twisting the strings of once the upright minds, distorting them and bending them to his will. The mind, he soon came to realize, was the ultimate sanctuary, the one place where one could go to feel safe, even if every available physical environment was harsh and unyielding. And he had taken that one last refuge away from these men, and made them into something other than themselves. As Barton, he sat strapped to a chair, with Natasha Romanoff sitting beside him, clinging to her voice and her words as he tried desperately to reclaim the bits of himself that had been scattered to the four corners of his consciousness. There was a terrible sense of urgency in that act, for it seemed incredibly dangerous to remain this fragile shell of a man for any length of time. Anything could come along and break him, snap him in two like a twig. But as always, the dreams had moved onward.

He could not, he had learned, have managed to murder a better man than Phil Coulson. The agent had devoted his entire life to S.H.I.E.L.D., often at the expense of things such as sleep and relationships, for the sake of enforcing justice and protecting innocent people. That perpetual ghost of a smile that always floated on his face, it turned out, was because no matter what the price, Agent Phil Coulson thought that what he was doing was the right thing. _Conviction._ He had been right, of course. Conviction and bravery were two things the man had possessed in immense amounts. Until he had drawn his very last breath, Coulson had thought first of what was best for the team. It was a kind of selflessness that Loki was not familiar with, and it puzzled and intrigued him. But he could not dwell on it, for his dreams had continued to change.

Never had Loki thought that a single day could seem such a horrific eternity. All he wanted was for the the pain and the fear and the sadness to _stop_. But though he fought as hard as he could, Odin's spell had kept him from pushing past the barrier into wakefulness. His only respite, as small as it was, was to create an illusion that he was not alone, that there was a comforting hand upon his shoulder and brow, another presence enduring these horrors with him. He did not know where the need for such a thing came from. All he knew was that it provided an infinitesimal amount of comfort, and that it alone had allowed him to keep from slipping back into the sweet grasp of insanity.

When the last nightmare had finally come to an end, Loki opened his eyes slowly and glanced around him. He was looking up at the ceiling of his chamber. Gone were the buildings of New York, the sounds of explosions, the screams of the dying, and the cries of the grieving. The silence was deafening, yet gorgeous simultaneously. But it did not last. He felt a light touch upon his arm and a murmur of his name.

"Loki?" The question was spoken softly and gently, but he startled all the same, gasping slightly and instinctively pulling away. _Don't touch me, don't hurt me, please..._

Thor immediately lifted his hand off of Loki's arm and faced his palms toward him, to show that he meant no harm.

"It is all right, brother, it is only me."

Loki trembled, instinctively burrowing into his blankets, his mind still not fully realizing that he was no longer in his nightmares. He blinked, and the faces of terrified people flashed before his eyes. His dreams still haunted him despite his wakefulness, he realized with a wave of nausea. He whimpered despite himself.

Thor continued to try to comfort and coax him, his deep voice almost paradoxically gentle. "Do not be afraid, Loki, I mean you no harm. You are safe now; your punishment is over. Father says you are free to leave your chambers whenever you feel ready."

_Father_. Loki's unsettled mind fixated on that word, a word he associated with so much betrayal and pain and hatred. That thief had called himself his _father_ for over a millennium, and then turned right around and subjected him to _this_. And before him sat the old crow's true offspring, the one who had gotten off so easy, with only a short trip away from home, while he had been tortured inside his mind for something that seemed akin to an eternity. How _dare_ Thor even show his face here? Especially now, after it was all over? Loki remembered his mental conjuration of a comforting presence during his ordeals, and realized that he was the epitome of loneliness. How pathetic did he have to be to need to fabricate a presence for his own comfort? If Thor cared so much for him, where had he been when Loki had been reduced to _that_?

Narrowing his eyes at Thor, he hissed, "Leave me!" His voice was full of anger and hatred, but he was unable to keep the notes of betrayal and hurt out of it, as well.

Had Loki had a heart left to break, the look on Thor's face would have shattered it completely. He had obviously been expecting, or at the very least hoping for, Loki to reciprocate his love just as he once had. The rejection and anguish reflected in his blue eyes would have broken even the hardest of wills, but Loki's own pain rendered him helpless to do anything but wallow in his own slights and miseries.

"All...all right." Thor's voice broke as he spoke, and his eyes were cast downward. But he did not try to argue with Loki. He simply rose, normally proudly held shoulders slumped, and exited the chamber. The tiniest piece of Loki wanted to call out after him, to ask why he would give up on him so easily. That was so unlike Thor. Was Loki really that far beyond hope?

And then suddenly, he was alone as he had been in his nightmares. Despite it being what he had expressly ordered not a half-minute before, Loki suddenly realized that it was not the state he desired to be in at all. He could still hear his own screams, sounding like those of thousands of people, now either dead or suffering, and he longed desperately for another voice to help him shut them out. But there was no one.

Loki curled up beneath his blankets and wept.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Just some things I forgot to mention last time: I did not write this story with the intention of it being any form of slash. However, it does get very bromance-y, and if you choose to interpret it as slash, then that's entirely up to you. Also, different chapters are different lengths. Some are only about 6 pages, others may be as many as 12 or more. It's just the way that the sections and POV-changes even out. With that said, thanks so much for the reviews from last chapter (a special shout-out to the Guest who left an awesome monster-sized review!) and enjoy Chapter 2! :)**

**PS—If anyone gets the reference in the fic's title, you get pudding from Loki and Poptarts from Thor! ;)**

It was dawn when he woke, but he could still feel the salty residue on his cheeks-he must have cried himself to sleep. He supposed he should at least be grateful that he had slept, and that it had provided him with a respite, an escape from the visions that still haunted his thoughts. But even as he thought of the concept of them, they returned, turning familiar furnishings of his bedchamber into a bank full of shaking people, kneeling upon the floor with their heads bowed before the spear-pointing Chitauri. He knew their fear because he had not only felt it himself, but had known the individual thoughts of each and every person in the room, and he had lived through every moment their journeys of terror, one by one.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, trembling, fighting the urge to shed tears once more. He tried to picture something happy or joyful or even funny to try to drive the dark thoughts away, but he found with a stab of fear that he could think of nothing-darkness alone filled his mind. And when he reached for his magic to try to conjure up something physical, something he could actually see to distract himself, he remembered with a sickening jolt that it was gone. At the source of the need for his punishment had been his craving for power; now, he realized now that he had never felt so powerless in all his life.

He sat like that for a long time, with his face buried in the backs of his legs. Sometimes he was perfectly still; other times his whole body would shake as his mind flashed through the images, the sounds, and the emotions that he had lived in his day of nightmares. He had not moved hours later when he heard his door open. He jumped slightly, not having expected this sudden event after so long of nothing occurring around him-only in his mind. To his surprise, Thor stood before him, bearing a tray of food, which he set down on the bedside table.

For several long seconds, Thor did not say anything. He just stood there and _looked_ at Loki, his eyes sad and worried. Loki could not find the courage to look back at him, so he just stared down at his blankets. Before his punishment, every time he had thought of Thor, the only thoughts he could muster had been angry ones, and a desire for revenge. Now Loki knew what it was to suffer, to hurt, and he knew that his words had hurt Thor the previous day. It was odd, he realized suddenly, that the one person Odin had chosen not to force him to take the perspective of was Thor. Loki knew that he _had_ hurt Thor in his attempt to subjugate Midgard, physically if nothing else-surely striking the ground after falling thirty thousand feet and having a dagger slid into your abdomen had could not feel very pleasant. But other than a passing notice of the battle through Midgardian eyes, the thunderer had been absent from Loki's nightmares.

Finally, after what must have been nearly a minute, Thor sat down in the chair next to Loki's bed and took his hand from where it was hidden in a tangle of legs and blankets and black hair, holding it in his own enormous hand and pressing it. Then he reached up to place his other hand behind Loki's neck, holding it gently but firmly so that Loki was forced to look into his eyes and behold the depths of the love that pooled there.

Thor remained silent for several more seconds. He seemed to be searching Loki's eyes, as though he were trying to discern his thoughts simply by reading him like a book. Such a technique might work on Thor, Loki thought, for he wore his heart on his sleeve. But Loki, the great deceiver and master of illusions, had always prided himself in being quite the opposite.

Finally, Thor broke the silence, his voice earnest and emotional.

"Brother, whatever it is that ails you, you _will_ persevere through it. I will see to it myself."

For a fraction of a moment, Loki wanted to believe him, wanted to let him help, to let him _in_. But that was impossible. Loki's every defense was up and armed, and he responded to the instinct that overcame him, the one that said to push Thor away.

"I am not your brother," he whispered, closing his eyes because Thor's grasp prevented him from turning his face away. There was no malice in his tone this time. He was not rejecting Thor's status of brother to himself, but rather the other way around. _He_ was not worthy of being called anyone's brother, and especially not Thor's. _Brave, kind, good Thor. The warrior, the golden prince, who has learned to care about other people besides himself and has turned out to be quite good at it, just as he is at everything else. _ Loki wished that the words in his head would not take such a sarcastic tone, but he could not help himself.

"You will always be my brother, no matter who you were born to, where you go, or what you do. I _love_ you, Loki, and I always will. _Why_ can you not see that?"

Loki ignored the breaking of Thor's voice and focused on the harsh words coming from his own mouth. They sounded like a low growl. "Because what kind of love overshadows and smothers? You fancy yourself my protector and comforter, but it is _your_ fault I am here in the first place!" _You were so quick to give up on me yesterday. Why now do you come back and try to fix me? Can you not see that I am beyond help? Even you are not so powerful and special. You cannot perform miracles._

Thor had obviously been more prepared for Loki's acidic, hateful remarks than he had the previous day, for he did not exit the chamber drooping this time. But his eyes absorbed the hurt of the comments and reflected it back out at Loki.

"I know now that for many centuries you lived in my shadow, and if I had not been so naive, I would have mended that a long time ago! I do not believe I could ever say 'I am sorry' enough to even begin to cover the damage my ignorance and blindness has inflicted upon you, my dear brother. But I _promise_ you I will see you through this. Your health and happiness mean more to me than anything-the throne, the kingdom. All I want is to see you whole again."

There were tears shining in Thor's earnest, loving eyes, and Loki realized that he could not stand to see that. Forcing himself out of Thor's grasp, he flopped down on his side and rolled so that he faced the wall, away from Thor. _Stop wasting your time on such a hopeless cause. I will never be whole again. How could I, after what I have seen, what I have _done_?_

"Loki, please do not do this," Thor pleaded as Loki broke eye contact and turned away from him.

"I am afraid I must once again fail to rise to low expectations. I am sorry I cannot provide you with what you wish. I suggest you formulate new desires, preferably of someone who will not fail you as I have." He spoke to the wall, and he no longer had the strength to keep the anger in his tone-it had been replaced with bitterness and defeat. He found himself struggling to keep a tremor out of his voice, and cursed himself inwardly for needing to do so.

"So that is what this is about, then? You think yourself beyond assistance, beyond hope?" He could _feel_ Thor's eyes in his back, and he could sense the agony in them even without looking. A wave of desperation to make Thor _see_ overcame him, and he sat up so that he could meet his gaze, his viridian eyes haunted.

"Odin's punishment was to make me experience the pain and terror and grief of every single person affected by my actions on Midgard in grueling, painstaking detail. Every. Single. _One._ I have died more than a hundred times over, and mourned the deaths of people I loved even more times than that! And the entire time, I was followed by the overwhelming knowledge that _I_ was the cause of all of it. There is nothing I can do to bring back the people who died, or to soothe grief of their families, or to chase away the nightmares..." _Their nightmares or mine?_ He wondered suddenly. He drew a shuddering breath and continued. "So yes, I _am _beyond assistance, and most certainly beyond hope."

He closed his eyes and resumed the position he had been in when Thor had first entered the room, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in them. He would _not_ weep, not in front of Thor. But he had just realized as he spoke the words how true they were. What he had experienced in his nightmares continued to follow him, and he could see no end in sight. He knew that the moment he tried to take some rest, they would find him, and he would wake sobbing and sweating and shaking.

"Loki..." All Thor could manage for a moment was his name. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki could see him reach toward him as if to lay a hand on his arm, but then draw back, not wanting to push Loki away with his touch. Then, placing his arm back down on top of his own leg, Thor spoke, his voice quiet and full of conviction.

"Perhaps you cannot bring back the dead, but I refuse to believe that you cannot be made well again. You will eventually make peace inside yourself, but right now you must focus on healing your mind. I know it seems impossible, but we will find a way."

_We_._ Was Thor ever _not_ a stubborn, overly optimistic fool?_ Loki swallowed.

"The tortures that replay themselves inside my head cannot be overcome. There is nothing you can do for me, Thor." He turned away to lay once more on his side, facing the wall. He heard Thor sigh sadly.

"Believe what you wish, brother. But know that I will never give up on you. And when you are ready to let me into your heart and help you, I will be here. All you need to do is ask."

Loki felt the softest of squeezes on his shoulder before he heard Thor's footsteps receding, and then the opening and closing of his chamber door. When he was satisfied that he was alone, Loki curled up in as tight a ball as he could and tried not to think about the conversation he had just had. The hurt that he had seen in Thor's eyes only added to the pain he was suffering as thousands of different people in his mind. It should have just felt like one more tiny jewel added onto an already enormous suit of armor-it should not have mattered so much.

_That fool_, he thought bitterly. _He tries to help me and succeeds in tearing me apart all the more._

He had thought that turning his pain into resentment would soften the blow a bit, take away the incredibly heavy jewel from his suit of armor, but it did not. It only added to the weight. Giving up and ignoring the tray of food Thor had left at his bedside, Loki did the only thing he had the mental energy to do at that moment. He closed his eyes and tried to fall back into rest, even though he knew that this time, and all the times after, it would not come unmolested.

_~~~The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me_~~~

He was right-the nightmares did come back to haunt him as he slept. They were not as specific nor as accurate as had been the ones induced by Odin's spell-his mind shuffled the events around, sometimes twisting or warping them so that he never knew what horror was around the corner, waiting to pounce on him. In no way were these nightmares any less vivid than the dreams of his punishment.

The horrors that played over and over again inside his head made Loki into a prisoner of his own mind, and in turn, made his body a prisoner of his chamber. He did not leave the room at all for a week. Thor brought him his meals, and would each time attempt to engage him in conversation, urging him to reveal what was bothering him, so that he may listen and try to help. But Loki spoke very little, if at all-while Thor meant well, he was one of the least observant people in the Nine Realms, and Loki doubted that he had any idea what was going on in his troubled mind. But even if he had, Loki wondered if Thor would stop trying to get him to talk about it. For Loki could not have put the horrors into words even if he had wanted to-the very thought of trying made his heart pound, his hands tremble, and sweat break upon his brow.

After deciding that no amount of coaxing could get his brother to speak, Thor would leave the room, sad and a bit defeated. Loki would drink the water and hot tea that was left for him on the tray, but he ate little. He found the act made him queasy, and he wondered that if he did not manage to waylay the potency and frequency of his nightmares and memories somewhat, he might end up starving to death. It seemed an acceptable outcome at that point-he was apathetic to the state of his survival. He did manage the occasional nibble at a bit of bread or slice of sweet apple to take the edge off of his hunger, but he dared not try too much more than that.

Thor worried incessantly over his lack of appetite. Between his descent into madness during his time spent with the Chitauri, his attempt on Midgard, during which he had had very little time to see to his own well-being, and his current despondency and depression, the already thin Loki had lost a considerable amount of weight. Thor would look at the nearly untouched meal trays and say that if Loki did not eat something soon, he would take ill. Loki knew that he was right, but his guilt and the terrifying memories-for that was what they seemed like, even more so than nightmares-often made him feel so sick to his stomach he could not even look at food. He did not tell Thor this, of course-he simply absorbed his onslaught of concerned words continued to stare off into oblivion, waiting for the thunderer, who so lacked understanding of his situation, to leave so that he could be alone with his dark and tortured thoughts.

But on the seventh day, the door opened at a time when Thor generally did not visit him, and the startled Loki looked up to behold Frigga standing on the threshold. He made the mistake of flicking his eyes to hers, just for a second. She was so worried and hurt, that much was immediately obvious, and he hated himself for being the cause of that.

"Loki..." It was the first word she had said to him since his supposed death over two months prior. He had always loved the way she said his name, seeming to embrace the first syllable of it, drawing it out just long enough that it seemed she infused it with everything she had always been to him-threads of shining gold silk flowing in a gentle breeze of love and kindness and caring and warmth. How long it had been since he had heard her say his name! He realized now that he had completely forgotten what it sounded like, and that thought made him indescribably sad.

He purposefully did not look up, for he knew that he could not bear to look her in the eye again. He could almost physically feel her pain growing, as he could his own discomfort, until suddenly she was sitting on the bed next to him, taking him into her arms and sobbing into his hair. Though he did not return the gesture, he made no move to stop her, for who was he to deny a mother the right to embrace her son?

For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Loki felt his heart sink with every shuddering breath Frigga took. She did not deserve the agony he had caused her, _was_ causing her, she who had loved him the most. And she certainly did not deserve the hollowed shell of a son she now cradled in her arms. Maybe if he just continued to fade away until there was nothing left of him, she would forget about him. Thor was the perfect son-maybe if there was only Thor, if none of them even remembered Loki, they could have their perfect, happy little family, and Frigga would not be sad. She _did_ deserve to not be sad.

"I am sorry." He heard himself whisper the words before he was conscious of actually saying them. She lifted her head from where it was nestled against his and looked into his dry, ashamed eyes with her own wet ones. She lifted an ivory hand to caress the contours of his face, running her fingers over his gaunt cheekbones and below his sunken eyes.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, my love. I am overjoyed to have the son I thought to be dead returned to me. What more could a mother ask for?"

"Much more than me." The remark sounded far harsher than he had intended, and his heart twisted at the injured, taken aback look on her face. Before she could hush him, he went on. "I betrayed my family and the realm. I have committed murder many times over, and I tried to force an entire realm to bow to me. And now I cannot even rise to face the day because the horrors I have caused haunt me like the vengeful spirits of fireside tales." He gave a humorless, ironic chuckle, hearing tears prick at his voice, but forcing them back. "I was wrong. I am not the monster parents tell their children about at night. I am so much worse than that."

"No." It was not a scolding or angry "no", but rather a firm, tender "no" that held the smallest hint of desperation. "You are my _son_. You are a lost, hurt, frightened little boy, wandering through the darkness of the forest, trying to find a way out into the light. You have taken a few wrong turns along the way, but you _will_ find your way home. Because there are people still looking for you, and we will never give up the search."

She placed her hand beneath his chin and tilted it upward so that he could not look away. Her eyes moved back and forth, searching his own for what he knew she so hoped to find there-hope, recognition of the truth, acquiescence with her words. And he wanted, _oh_ how he _wanted_ to give her that, but he knew that he could not. He knew she would find only brokenness, exhaustion, self-loathing, and despair in his shattered gaze.

He wished she would just give in, accept the truth and move on, and leave him to suffer alone. But instead she reached up to stroke his hair and murmured, "My poor, sweet little Loki. Whatever have they done to hurt you so?" There were tears streaming down her face again, and he felt sick with guilt at the sight of them. "I begged the king not to continue with the rest of the punishment after the extraction. I believe the influence of the Tesseract caused your magic to bind more tightly than was natural to your soul. The extraction of your magic should not have caused you so much agony. It was not fair to go on. But there is a purpose to everything your father does." She sounded just as convinced of this now than she had the last time they had talked alone together, sitting at the incapacitated Odin's bedside. "I can only hope that all will become clear to you in time. But for now, you must at least know that your family loves you, Loki, and we would help you through this. Thor wants so much to do whatever he can for you."

Loki scoffed, turning away from her touch and glaring down at his blankets. "Thor knows nothing about what I am going through."

"Of course he does not. He says that you have not told him a thing. How can you expect us to help you if you do not confide your troubles to us? We _will _listen, Loki. We _want _to help you. Do you not _want_ us to help you?"

He swallowed back the answer of _yes, oh yes, please help me_, for he knew that even though the words would be true, the circumstances would make it a lie. And even the Liesmith would not tell such a lie to his own mother.

"It is not a matter of what I want," he whispered, his voice catching on the words like brambles on a sleeve, pricking and tearing and stinging and painful. "As I have told Thor, there is nothing anyone can do for me." He did not need to look up to know that she was crying again. "I _am_ sorry."

Unlike the insufferable Thor, she did not try to convince him further. She only took him into her arms once more, holding him and weeping for her son, lost to her twice now. He hoped that her grief would be short-lived, that maybe if he hid long enough in his chamber, she would forget that he was ever there in the first place. It was the best he could hope for, he supposed.

Neither of them spoke again. After a little while, he pretended to fall asleep in her arms, closing his eyes and consciously slowing his breathing and making it even. He felt her guide him into a lying down position, lean his upper back and head against the pillows, and tuck the blankets tenderly around him. The feel of her lips against his forehead sent him spiraling back to his childhood with such a burst of painful nostalgia that it almost made him break his illusion, but he managed to maintain his cover until she left the room.

An odd coldness swept over him, and he shivered and curled up, pulling the blankets tighter around himself and wishing to disappear and never come back. After all, would it not be better for everyone that way?


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again for the reviews, everyone! Here is Chapter 3. Enjoy! :) Next chapter will introduce our two favorite scientists. :D**

The inexplicable chill persisted for the rest of the afternoon and on into the night. Thor came to bring him his dinner, consisting of a steaming cup of tea and a plate full of foods he knew Loki liked to eat-roast chicken, warm bread just out of the oven, fresh greens, carrots boiled with brown sugar, and sliced apples. Thor brought him sliced apples with every meal. Loki had always had a soft spot for apples, particularly the kind with the pinkish skin that were sweet (but not overly sweet). Though he would eat them in any form, he preferred them sliced because it made the whole affair much less sticky and messy. Always the opposite of the unconquerable Thor (who could and would eat anything), Loki had always had a bit of a delicate constitution-certain foods (particularly anything spicy or overly rich, along with fatty meat, tomatoes, peppers, onions, and citrus fruits) tended to make him sick to his stomach-and apples were one of the few things he could always count on not to make him feel queasy. There had been many a time while he was growing up when, following a bout of illness-after one of Eir's (the palace's chief healer's) tonics had calmed the worst of his nausea-Frigga had restored Loki's affinity for food by asking one of the cooks to bake apples. The result had always been soft, warm, sweet, comforting, and most importantly, gentle on his recovering stomach. The special looking-after had made his upsets seem not nearly so bad-he had most certainly always enjoyed the attention.

That evening, as usual, Thor tried to engage him in conversation, but his increased guilt resulting from Frigga's visit made Loki even less open to speaking than before. He merely regarded Thor with sad and tired eyes. The mighty thunderer looked much less, well, _mighty_ than normal, Loki thought fleetingly. Thor looked weary, care-worn, and sad. Nothing at all like the Thor he had known not so long ago. Loki supposed he was not the only one who had changed since he had last been in Asgard. It suddenly struck him that Thor must have grieved right along with Frigga, spending two months believing him dead. The thought hurt. It hurt a lot. But not quite as much as his guilt for what he had done to his mother hurt, because it was Thor-with his stealing of the attention and approval and love that should have been Loki's-who had caused it all in the first place. Hadn't it?

He heard Thor sigh sadly. "I can see that you still do not feel like talking to me. Very well, I know better than to try to force you. But please, at least try to eat _something_. Mother confided to me her worries over how thin you are. Perhaps you will feel more like talking once you've eaten." He sounded hopeful.

_All the more reason not to eat, then._ The thought came almost automatically, but his inner voice was sorely lacking in its characteristic sarcasm as of late. Loki did not say anything, and simply lowered his gaze to his blankets as Thor reached out to squeeze his shoulder gently.

"I love you, Loki."

The simplicity of the comment, combined with its earnestness, was incredibly Thor-ish. _I know_, thought Loki. The inner voice did not even try for sarcasm that time. It only sounded sad.

When Thor had left, Loki started in immediately on the tea. He still felt quite chilled, and it was wonderfully warm. He supposed the cold he was feeling was a direct reflection of the cold which inhabited his heart,-indeed, the feeling had set in just after Frigga had left, when his heart had felt the coldest. But the tea helped to warm his body a little bit, and in an effort to continue the warming effect, he ate an entire piece of the just-baked bread and a couple of bites of sweet carrot. He finished with two small slices of apple, their familiar, comforting taste bringing wishful pangs of longing to his heart for days he knew he could never go back to.

He did eventually find solace from the cold in his sleep, but in exchange, as always, his nightmares found him. He awoke the next morning shaken and despondent, as he had every morning since his punishment. He had started awake from one of his most horrible and commonly recurring dreams, one involving the young mother's death and her child's grief. Sitting up, he tucked his knees up to his chest, as he had done so often these past few days, and waited until his shakes died down and his breathing evened. After several minutes, he calmed enough to notice the pale light of dawn streaming through his window. He had survived another night, then-but for what? At least his chill seemed to have left him, though the realization of this fact brought him but small comfort.

It was not long before Thor entered. Although Thor visited him every morning, ignoring Loki's wishes as to whether or not he actually wished to be visited, several things were different this time. For one thing, it was far earlier than Thor's normal entrance-the lazy oaf had always been one for sleeping in. While until now, Loki had always been an appreciator of the unique beauties of the early morning, Thor was more appreciative of the unique beauties of sleep.

The second different element about this morning, Loki noted, was that Thor did not come bearing a breakfast tray. Had he finally given up on getting Loki to eat?

He regarded Thor inquiringly and a bit apprehensively, with one eyebrow raised in question. Thor stood on the threshold and, without introduction, announced,

"The Allfather has requested our presence in the throne room."

Loki almost came back with a sarcastic "well, good morning to you, too", but then realized that given the amount of courtesy and manners _he_ had been showing _Thor_ lately, the comment would be ridiculously out of place and hypocritical. Instead, he half-snorted with falsified amusement.

"I do not particularly wish to see him."

Thor sighed in barely-contained frustration. "Loki, he is the king, and he has expressly ordered our presence."

"_Our_ presence?" Loki thought he had heard the plural the first time Thor had spoken.

"Yes. He wishes to see the both of us." Upon further interrogation via glare from Loki, Thor put his out his hands, palms facing forward, in a gesture of surrender and innocence. "I have no idea what this is about, so do not ask me."

Loki studied him, eyes narrowed. There was no lie in Thor's eyes. Thor was the worst liar Loki had ever known, so it was also obvious when he was telling the truth. And he _was_ telling the truth now. Loki sighed resignedly. No amount of stubborn refusal would get him out of this.

"Well, I suppose I do not have much of an option, then. But you will at least allow me time to change my clothing and make myself look at least halfway presentable. Leave now." The last sentence was not a hateful remark designed to injure like the similar order he had given Thor a week prior. Instead, it was flippant and flowed naturally from the progression of his thoughts. It was the most he had sounded like himself since he had arrived back in Asgard, he noted. He saw Thor grin as he turned to exit the chamber.

For the entire week he had remained holed up in his chamber, Loki had purposefully avoided looking in the mirror that sat atop his chest of drawers. Now, especially with his powers stripped, which prevented him from dressing himself and adjusting his appearance in his normal fashion, he would have no choice but to be faced with his own visage. A pitiful thing stared back at him from the glass. It was pale, much too thin, and unkempt, with uncombed black hair sticking every direction. There were dark circles under the sunken, dulled green eyes, giving them a haunted look. So this was what he had become, then. Not a god, not a being, but a shell.

Loki swallowed back his disgust and depression and returned to the task at hand. He started by changing out of his nightshirt and into his armor and cloak. If he was to go before the king, he would be meticulously dressed in the traditional fashion. He would not let Odin see his suffering.

It took him far longer than normal to dress. He was not accustomed to being unable to rely on his magic to reach the buckles in difficult places, but he managed. He had never been comfortable letting the servants dress him-not to mention far too independent-and he was not about change his ways now. When he had finished, he poured some water from the pitcher on his bedside table into the washbasin, splashed it on his face, and then proceeded to dry himself with a towel. Finally, he turned his attention to his hair. With a bit of combing and fussing, he was able to coax it into resuming its normal slicked look, though he worried over how long it would stay like that without his magic to hold it in place. Finally, the process was finished, and he left his chamber for the first time in a week to join Thor in the hallway. The thunder god smiled broadly at him.

"It is good to see you up and about, brother."

Loki chose not to even address the "brother" part of the comment, having beaten that particular point well past its demise. Instead, he came back with a growl.

"Do not grow accustomed to it."

Thor's face fell a little at the remark, but he still looked optimistic.

Loki could feel Odin's gaze, more intense than that of anyone with two eyes, upon him as they proceeded through the enormous bejeweled doors that separated the throne room from its antechamber, but he did not meet it. Thor immediately dropped to one knee before his father, dipping his head respectively, and after a moment's hesitation, Loki copied his actions. He found that he no longer possessed the sharp, stubborn defiance of the Allfather he had a week before, not after the horrors of Odin's punishment. He thought it wisest to tread carefully around the king, for he honestly did not know if he could endure any more of his unique discipline. He could only wonder what the Allfather had in store for him now. Even with his head bowed, he could see Frigga sitting at her husband's side, and he hoped that she would protect him from any more awful things Odin might have in mind for him.

Having shown the traditional respect, they stood once more, and Thor spoke.

"Sire, you asked to speak with us?"

Odin addressed the first prince, seeming to ignore Loki's presence as usual, despite having explicitly ordered that both of them come to see him. _How typical_, thought Loki bitterly.

"Yes. Frodhr," he named his High Counsellor, "drew more detailed plans for the repair of the Bifrost while you were on Midgard. Thor, I know that you had expressed an interest in overseeing the reconstruction, but I believe that your services will be of more value performing repairs of another form."

Thor regarded his father curiously. "I am afraid I do not understand, Father."

Odin held up a silencing hand, indicating that he was not yet finished speaking. "I have spent the past week analyzing the magic extracted from Loki, and have used what it has shown me to perfect travel between the realms without requiring the use of the Bifrost."

Loki clenched his fists, seething with anger. If Odin had examined his magic to learn techniques that until now, only Loki had possessed the knowledge of sorcery required to perform, it was doubtful that there was anything contained within the woven threads of his powers that the Allfather had not seen. It was perhaps the strongest insult a sorcerer could endure, to be stripped of what made him unique and then have it searched so all his secrets came to light. Loki felt as though Odin had found a private journal of his and read it, or seen him unclothed. How _dare_ he? The act of taking his powers away from him in the first place had been terrible enough, especially given how painful of an experience it had been for him, but _this_... But he did not dare to speak out against the king. Not now, after he had seen what he was capable of inflicting upon one who he had at least once considered to be his son.

If Odin noticed Loki's anger, he did not show it. Instead, he continued what he had been saying to Thor.

"You will return to Midgard and help with the restoration process after battle with the Chitauri. I know your particular affinity for the realm, and you have thus far acted well in protecting it. We must show the Midgardians that Asgard wants only peaceful relations with their people."

Thor looked momentarily stunned. It was obvious that he had not been expecting this at all. But then again, neither had Loki.

"I...Father, it is a wonderful idea, but my brother is in a fragile state after his punishment. I would not leave him." Thor's voice was full of tenderness, but Loki heard a hint of regret there as well. A voice deep within him told him that he was imagining it, but he cared not. He did not appreciate either Odin or Thor speaking of him as though he was not standing in their presence, and this only inflamed his ire. But before he could speak, Odin nodded to Thor.

"I thought you might say that." Then, he at last turned to Loki.

"Loki, you will accompany Thor to Midgard and assist him in cleaning up the mess you have caused."

Now it was Loki's turn to be truly surprised, so much so that he spoke for the first time since he had entered the throne room. He did, however, maintain enough sense to choose his words carefully, and he kept his voice calm and polite.

"With all respect, sire, I do not believe that Midgard would take kindly to having me back, especially not so soon after I attempted to subjugate their realm."

"Then it is up to you to build a new image for yourself. If it is for your personal safety you worry, I would urge you to be reassured that Thor will protect you to the ends of the Nine Realms."

Thor nodded vigorously. "Yes, of course. No harm shall come to you, Loki, mortal or not. You have my sincerest word."

Loki sighed. Of course the giant oaf would go to the greatest of lengths to ensure his safety, but even Thor was not completely invincible. He had mental pictures of angry mobs bearing torches and pitchforks, chanting his name with murder in their eyes. What was Odin thinking?

"Sire, I do not think..."

Odin's voice was gentle but firm. "Loki, I am your king, and this is an order. Should you choose to disobey my orders, there _will_ be consequences."

_Consequences_. Those were something Loki was all too familiar with. He had no choice, then. Without his magic he had no way to resist-he was a puppet, forced to dance to every one of Odin's pulls on his strings. He lowered his eyes and said, quietly and respectfully,

"I will obey, sire."

Odin gave a nod in recognition of Loki's compliance. "Thank you, Loki. How you choose to accomplish this restoration is for you to decide. Despite your recent actions on Midgard, I have faith that your punishment has greatly altered your judgment for the better. And I trust that judgment more now than I did before. My son, do not show this trust to be misplaced."

At those words, Loki found himself raising his eyes to regard the king with speechless shock. Had he just used the word _trust_ in reference to Loki? And even more importantly, had he just expressed some form of approval toward him? _Not hardly_, the voice in Loki's head scoffed. Perhaps he was having hallucinations resulting from his undernourishment. He had now been on his feet longer than he had in days, and he was beginning to feel a bit shaky. Maybe he should have eaten a few more slices of apple the night before.

He did not need the Allfather's approval, anyway-his time in the Dark World had shown him that. And especially not after the nightmares Odin had put him through, was _still_ putting him through. He was no longer a needy child seeking his father's approval. He had grown up very quickly over the last couple of months, the rush making him hardened and jaded. He had never cared less about anyone's opinion in all of his life. He would go to Midgard with Thor, but only because he had no means of resisting the Allfather's punishment if he refused. That was the _only_ reason.

_~~~The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~  
_

A matter of hours later, Loki stood next to Thor in the palace courtyard, dressed in Midgardian attire, blinking as the sunlight he had not seen for several days assaulted his tired eyes. They had only to wait a matter of seconds before Frigga glided into view, the trim of her favorite cream-colored gown trailing in her wake.

She embraced Loki first, holding him long and tightly, and he felt a lump rise unbidden in his throat and realized that he was returning her embrace. He did not know how long he would be gone from Asgard this time, or what he would be when he returned. _If_ he returned. Nothing in his life was stable anymore, and for all he knew, this could be the last time he ever saw her. And though he knew that he could not give her what she deserved-a son worthy of the love she had shown him-he _could_ return her love. He would do that for her, at least.

"My son, my sweet Loki," she murmured into his shoulder before withdrawing her embrace, clasping her hands upon his arms, and locking her moistened eyes upon his. "You will go to Midgard and make things right, not only for the people there but for yourself. And then you will come _home_, home to stay, and you will be well and whole again."

Loki swallowed hard, not trusting himself to speak. Thankfully, before the silence became awkward or painful, Frigga took him into an embrace once more and spoke again. Her voice broke on the traditional traveller's blessing, an exchange between only the closest of loved ones.

"_Måtte din reise være trygg og fruktbar, og måtte du snart returnere til mine armer_, my son." ("May your journey be safe and fruitful, and may you return soon to my embrace.")

And suddenly Loki realized just how much he would miss her. Not so long ago he had let go of Gungnir and fallen between the worlds with only a wish that she would forgive him. Now he wanted to stay in her comforting arms forever. It was selfish, he knew, because the he could not reciprocate what she could provide him-he was a failure of a son to a wonderful, loving mother. But he wished to remain in her arms all the same. And despite his utmost efforts, Loki could not stop his voice from shaking as he recited the return charge.

"Måtte vår gjenforening komme snart, og måtte du ha fred til vi møtes igjen, Mother." ("May our reunion come swiftly, and may you have peace until we meet again.")

Never in his life had he so badly wanted those words to be true, and never had he been so sure that they would not be. He felt Frigga drop a kiss into his hair before releasing him and moving to where Thor stood, pretending not to be listening in on their parting. Frigga embraced her eldest son as well, and Loki heard her whisper,

"Take care of your brother, Thor. Be strong for him, as I know you will. You are the best hope that he has."

"You have my word, Mother." Thor's voice was a soft rumble, unusually humble and meek, but as earnest as always.

They exchanged the traditional farewell, with Thor's response sounding decidedly less tremulous than Loki's had. When they had finished, Odin, who had entered the courtyard as Frigga had been speaking to Thor, lifted his hands and spoke the words to a spell that Loki knew very well. He felt Thor's hand clasp his, and he had just enough time to brace himself before he was spiraling violently in the empty space between the worlds.

_~~~The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~_

Once they landed, it took them both several seconds to gain their bearings and wait for their heads to stop spinning before they could even look around and take in their surroundings.

"That..." Thor panted, "was _much_ less comfortable than traveling by the Bifrost!"

"Why do you think_ most people_ use the Bifrost?" Loki growled and glared at Thor, realizing as he did so that it was much too early to open his eyes yet. He quickly shut them again and leaned down so that his hands clasped his knees, waiting for the nausea to abate and his world to stop rotating. Even when he had possessed his magic, he had never quite grown accustomed to the effects that particular spell had on his body. There was always a recovery time, and it seemed to take even longer now that he was mortal and weakened from undernourishment and improper rest.

Thor seemed to regain his bearings before Loki and glanced around curiously for a few moments before exclaiming,

"I must say, the Allfather's aim is to be commended! We are in Manhattan, a mere few street-crossings away from Stark Tower! Look, brother, there is the place where my friends and I shared a meal of shawarma!" He pointed to a dilapidated-looking building, whose sign less-than-enthusiastically declared "Shawarma", squeezed between two larger buildings which also looked as though they had seen better days. Loki rolled his eyes, choosing to not even respond to Thor's excited comment, but suddenly he felt his heart begin beat faster.

_Manhattan._ They were right in the middle of Manhattan, where merely a week ago he had wreaked incalculable destruction and caused the deaths of many people. The Allfather had sent him to his death, surely. He would be recognized, even in his Midgardian clothing, and they would come after him with their guns and bows and arrows and fire and explosives. He suddenly realized that he was sweating profusely in the warm air of the early autumn. The heat seemed to close in around him and stifle him. He could not panic, he _would_ not...

"Loki?" Thor's concerned voice broke into his thoughts. "Brother, you look unwell. Are you all right?"

Loki swallowed past his suddenly dry throat and croaked, "I am fine." It had to have been one of the least convincing lies ever told, and he doubted that even Thor would buy it. He tried to make it more believable by adding an element of truth. "I am merely feeling the effects of the heat, that is all."

"It is not a particularly hot day," observed Thor quietly. "But you are doubtlessly weak from hunger, and probably dehydrated as well. We will go somewhere where you _will_ eat and drink." He emphasized the "will", and Loki narrowed his eyes but did not protest. "After all, if you are to make amends as Father has ordered, you will need your strength."

"But where shall we go?" Loki looked around at the enormous skyscrapers and streets and cars and people that surrounded them. There was so _much_ in New York City, and yet none of it seemed able to provide a safe place for them. Or at least not for Loki.

Thor answered without even stopping to think. "We will go to Stark Tower."

Loki stared back at him with an amazed and exasperated look on his face.

"Thor, have you taken complete and utter leave of your senses? I threw Stark out of a window from the top floor of his own tower barely a week ago. In what imagined universe would he not try to kill me the moment we showed up on his doorstep, let alone _allow_ me into his home?"

"Stark is not nearly so cruel and unforgiving as that. He knows that _I_ am a friend, at least, and when he sees that you are no longer capable of posing a threat he might at least give me time to explain."

Loki snorted. "You are even more foolish than I thought, to put _this much_ trust in a mortal. Especially one as ridiculous as Stark." He was having increasing difficulty manufacturing creative insults. Why was he so damned _hot_? He was not even wearing his favorite article of Midgardian clothing-his black winter coat that trailed down to his calves, which had kept him gloriously warm during the unseasonably cold weather in Stuttgart, Germany a few nights prior. He had thought that his choice of a long-sleeved collared shirt (green, of course) and casual black slacks made of a light material had been the perfect choice for late September. But just standing there, he was far more uncomfortable than he had been fighting the Avengers in similar weather, decked out in full battle regalia. It did not make sense. He would have to find some way to convince Odin to come to Midgard and restore his magic before he traveled back to Asgard if the spell that sent him between the realms had _this_ strong of an effect on him when he was mortal.

"Foolish or not, I have not yet heard you suggest a better plan." Thor's comment was, infuriatingly, not at all sarcastic. He sounded matter-of-fact, as though he was simply making an observation. Loki wanted to be angry and frustrated and spiteful toward him, but right now he could only manage to feel resigned. Midgardians had something called "air conditioning" that made their dwellings cool on hot days, and right now he thought he just might shake Stark's hand if he allowed him into his tower with the contraption. Well, maybe nothing that extreme.

Loki glared at Thor for his words, but he said nothing. Obviously taking that as a cue to lead the way, Thor turned and headed in the direction of Stark Tower, Loki trailing slightly behind him, hoping that he would not melt into a puddle of green shirt and soaking slacks before they reached their destination. But thinking of what lay ahead, he knew that that was not the most painful way it was possible he would die that day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Introducing...Tony and Bruce! I love my scientists and engineers. :) Thanks everyone for the great reception of this story, and please continue to review! You've been a great audience so far!**

Anthony Edward Stark had always loved cars. He could afford them, for one thing, and very nice ones, at that. Very fast ones. He loved driving them (the more quickly, the better)-the speed, the rush, the feel of being one with the machine...really, it wasn't that much different from how he felt inside his suit. But he also loved how cars worked. He was an engineer-it came with the territory. He was constantly taking his cars apart and putting them back together, much to Pepper's dismay ("Tony! Do you know how much that's _worth_?!"), seeing what made each of them different, the little things that influenced their performance, _why_ one car was faster than another, or handled better around corners, or braked faster. So of course when he _finally_ got his hands on an Alfa Romeo convertible 8C Spider (for far more than the original $299,000 asking price back in '09, but it wasn't like the price was something he cared about), of course the first thing he did was lie on his back beneath it and mess with it.

He supposed it had something of a relaxing and meditative effect on him. Whatever. He told himself he just liked doing it. He had just helped save Manhattan and probably the rest of the world from a deranged Norse god and his alien army only a few days ago, and it wasn't like he needed to go to work to earn a living. So he could do what he wanted, and what he wanted was to spend hours beneath his new baby, Black Sabbath blaring from his workshop's computer system.

"Okay, I've heard that Alfas are loved by car enthusiasts because something's always going wrong that they have to fix, but _already_? I mean, you just got the thing home! You've barely driven it anywhere."

Tony had sort of fallen into a tinkering-induced trance as the hours ticked by, which was why he jumped at the sound of Bruce Banner's voice right next to him. He whacked his forehead on the underside of the car.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Bruce backed up to give Tony room to roll his flat scooter out from underneath the Alfa. "You had the music up loud, and I know you don't like people adjusting the volume..."

"It's okay." Tony reached out a hand to signal the doctor to stop apologizing. He put his other hand up to his forehead to tenderly palpate the lump that was already forming there. "That's gonna leave a bruise," he muttered reflectively.

Bruce winced apologetically. "I just came to see if you wanted some coffee. I'm getting JARVIS to make a pot. You've been down here for hours."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'm not being a very good host, leaving you all alone, am I?" Tony grinned. He knew very well that Bruce was perfectly fine with being left alone for hours, and not only because he was used to it. The nuclear physicist had spent the past week galavanting around Stark Tower, discovering its nearly endless arsenal of equipment and laboratory space and its incredibly advanced Artificial Intelligence system. A few days prior, Tony had walked in on him having a conversation with JARVIS, and the look of excitement on Bruce's face as he discussed the inter-workings of the AI's programming with the AI itself had been entertaining, to say the least.

Still, Tony felt a little bad that he had left his friend on his own for so long. While he had, admittedly, brought Banner back to the tower with him after the battle for his own entertainment-with Pepper always working, Tony tended to get bored with only JARVIS for company-, part of it had been for Bruce's sake, as well. He had been on his own for a very long time, running and hiding because of the destruction the Hulk-or "The Other Guy", as Bruce called him-had wreaked. Tony thought it was high time he had a friend. Tony had the space, that much was undeniable, so he had invited him to stay for as long as he wanted. Tony secretly hoped that would be a long time. He had to say, despite the lingering danger of a giant green rage monster smashing his already crippled tower, he was very much enjoying the company of the good doctor.

Bruce grinned at him. "I'd say you're doing okay. Tower's still standing, anyway."

Tony chuckled at the veiled Hulk-joke, and Bruce joined in once he saw that Tony was, indeed, amused. Tony considered Bruce's increased ability to joke about his inner monster to be a sign that he was growing more comfortable and at peace with its constant presence. The Bruce Banner he had met for the first time on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s helicarrier not so long ago would never have made a joke like that, or at the very least not without several layers of sarcasm attached to it.

**Dr. Banner, your coffee is ready,** the robotic voice of JARVIS announced, and a second later a pot of steaming black roast, along with two ceramic mugs, creamer, packets of sugar, and spoons, appeared on the workbench next to Bruce, courtesy of a mechanical transportation system Tony had designed and built to work as a delivery system in conjunction with the AI.

Even though Tony had not answered him on whether or not he wanted coffee, Bruce poured a mug and held it out to him. Tony accepted it.

"Thanks." It was a black coffee kind of day, so he drank it without further alteration.

Bruce waved away his thanks, indicating that he had done no work in procuring the drink. "It's kind of creepy how it knew I came down here. I was up in the lab when I asked it to make me the coffee." He emptied a creamer into his mug and stirred its contents with a spoon before taking a sip.

Tony chuckled softly. "Yeah, it is kinda unnerving, I guess, having something following you everywhere."

"I'm used to it." Bruce half-smiled and took another drink.

"Me too, I guess." Tony hated to admit it to himself, but in the days since the battle, observing Bruce finally beginning to come to terms with the Hulk had brought forth in his mind the things he lived with every day. Although it was perhaps easier for him to push away the memories of Afghanistan-the explosion, his captivity, his fear, Yinsen's death-than it was for Bruce to push away the ever-lingering presence of the Hulk, there were some days when said memories were harder to keep at bay than others. He was undeniably happy for Bruce-Tony had totally called it, by the way, when he had said that Bruce just might enjoy finding out what the Hulk had saved his life for-but watching his new friend deal with his personal demons had made Tony uncomfortably aware of his inability to conquer his own.

So yeah, it was a black coffee kind of day.

Bruce raised an eyebrow in a slightly concerned, somewhat curious manner, but he did not address the comment. He wasn't the prying type, and Tony was secretly glad. He decided it was time to distract himself while simultaneously spending time with his houseguest, and he changed the subject.

"How do you feel about movie night? We could go old-school. I have all of the original _Star Trek_ series on DVD. You look like a Trekkie."

Bruce laughed. "I have to say I do appreciate a good _Star Trek_ viewing session. It's been awhile since I've actually sat down to watch any TV. Horrible satellite reception in Calcutta."

"Great! I'll bring the drinks down from the top floor, JARVIS can make popcorn, I think I've got some Twizzlers and Raisinets somewhere..." Tony's rambling plans were suddenly interrupted by the monotonous, emotionless voice of JARVIS.

**Sir, you have visitors at the front door. Shall I admit them to the front room?**

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Come on, JARVIS, you know that depends on who it is."

**The visitors appear to be Thor and Loki, sir.**

Tony's eyes went wide, and when he looked at Bruce, he saw that his face held a similar expression. He swallowed down his pounding heart (_gotta keep an eye on Bruce_) and asked,

"You sure, JARVIS?"

**My facial recognition software yields a seventy-eight percent match for Thor and a seventy-five percent match for Loki, and cross-referencing yields an eighty-nine percent match for both.**

"Yeah, okay, I get the picture," muttered Tony distractedly, his mind working five miles a minute.

"Isn't Loki supposed to be facing justice on Asgard?" After the initial shock, Bruce the scientist was obviously thinking just as quickly as Tony, checking his facts and trying to piece together the puzzle.

Tony nodded. "That was the plan, as far as I was told. But if he's _with_ _Thor_..."

"We can't put all our faith in that fact. He could still be a threat."

"Oh, I know." Tony chuckled harshly. "Trust me, I know."

**Sir, should I admit the visitors?**

"No, I'm on my way down."

"_We're_ on our way down," corrected Bruce, obviously wanting Tony to know that he had his back, whatever this encounter might bring. "But maybe you should suit up first?"

Tony pulled his suit-in-a-bracelet out of his pocket and snapped it onto his wrist. "I don't want to seem threatening. But I'll be ready." He held up his arm. "You should be, too."

Bruce grinned ironically. "I'm always ready."

The workshop was on the first floor, so they didn't even need to take the elevator to reach the front entrance, which was actually an elaborate set of mahogany double doors. Tony wished that they had been further away to begin with so that he would have had more time to think. They really did need a plan. But this was _Thor_, who had fought with them only a few days ago-had committed himself to the same cause they had. He had done it mainly to get his brother back, yeah, but Tony knew that the god of thunder was also committed to protecting Earth. And he was their friend.

Maybe Loki had taken over his brain, like he'd done to Barton. Sure, his power wasn't connected with the Tesseract anymore, but Thor had said his brother was a master of sorcery-who knew what he was capable of?

Tony was just beginning to rethink his decision not to suit up when he suddenly found himself standing at his front door. On the other side of that door were two of the most powerful beings in the entire universe, and at least one of them did not like Tony. At all.

But Tony did owe him a drink, and so with a quick glance behind him at Bruce to make sure he was ready, he opened the door.

It was indeed Thor standing on his doorstep, though the god had forgone his usual Asgardian battle attire and red cape for jeans and a dark red long-sleeved T-shirt that was thin and tight enough to still show off his bulging muscles. Behind the imposing figure of the thunderer stood Loki, also in street clothes-albeit, slightly less casual ones. He didn't have nearly the same threatening, confident presence about him as he'd had only a few days ago, Tony noted. He looked almost ill, or at the very least like he hadn't been sleeping well-his cheeks were flushed, and his dull eyes had dark circles beneath them. Whatever punishment King Daddy had doled out had obviously not played nicely with Loki. What was really surprising, though, was that the god of mischief actually seemed to cower a little bit behind his brother when Tony caught his eye, but that fierce glare, full of hatred and disgust, was very familiar. At least he hadn't lost his sense of spite.

The instant Tony opened the door, Thor threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"My brother cannot hurt you; please do not harm him. He has had his powers extracted-he is mortal, like you."

Aha. So _that_ was why Loki suddenly seemed to be seeking shelter behind Thor. While magic-less Tony had a suit that could send the now-mortal god flying half a mile down the street, Loki had no way of defending himself. Tony shrugged his shoulders and gestured to indicate his un-suited body.

"I wasn't planning on hurting anybody. When JARVIS said you were here I figured whatever the reason was for it, it was going to eventually turn into a team project."

Thor looked a little bit surprised, but he nodded. "It might, eventually. I...I suppose I have some explaining to do."

That was undeniable. "Well...yeah. For one thing, how did you get here? I thought your dad couldn't keep you on Earth for very long because your rainbow bridge got broken. Right?" But then Tony remembered his manners. "It sounds like it could get to be quite a story. You should come in. You too, Prancer." He grinned at Loki, knowing he probably wouldn't catch the reference but not really caring. Loki looked mildly annoyed but also a little bit surprised. Mainly he just looked tired.

"Thank you, Stark. You are very kind," said Thor gratefully.

"Aww, that's sweet, Big Guy. But I think mainly Bruce and I are just looking for some more people to join in on movie night. We're watching _Star Trek_." Tony stepped aside to let his guests pass through the doorway, revealing Bruce, who had been standing quietly behind him the whole time. At the sight of the doctor, Loki gasped, and his eyes grew enormous. Tony had never seen him look afraid before-uncertain, yes, but never afraid. And this wasn't just fear-it was _terror_, worry for his very existence. But then Tony thought about Loki's last encounter with Bruce Banner-or more specifically, the other form of Bruce Banner-and realized that he probably had good reason to be terrified. Said encounter had resulted in a Loki-shaped crater in the floor of Stark Tower. Tony needed to get on that remodeling, actually.

Bruce noted his reaction as well, and he held out his hands in a gesture signifying that he came in peace. He spoke slowly, quietly, and calmly, as was his manner, as though he was trying to coax a frightened dog to come to him.

"Hey, it's okay. I won't hurt you. I know the Other Guy did, and I'm really sorry about that. But he doesn't come out too much anymore, and I know you're not going to give him reason to come out. So you're safe. I promise."

Tony had expected Bruce to try to establish good will between himself and Loki, despite what the miscreant god had done-it was just his way. He didn't like having bad blood with anyone, and Tony figured that at least part of that had to do with his constant need to manage his anger levels. But he really hadn't expected him to be _this_ good at the whole comforting thing. He should have guessed he would be, Tony supposed-after all, before being recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. to fight with the Avengers, Bruce had been working as a doctor in Calcutta, where he must have developed a good bedside manner.

Loki swallowed and took a small step backward, worried eyes still locked on Bruce as if he feared he might morph into the giant green monster at any moment. Thor turned around and gently touched his brother's arm.

"Loki," he spoke softly, mimicking Bruce's tone, although it sounded much less natural coming from him. "It is all right. Dr. Banner is a friend."

Loki's eyes suddenly left Bruce and flicked down to the hand on his arm. He scowled acerbically and jerked away from Thor's touch, then swept past him and Tony and stalked into the tower, skirting widely around Bruce. Tony raised an eyebrow and shrugged. He couldn't help but note how worried and saddened Thor looked, and it struck him that he had probably just been sucked into one of the most complicated family feuds in history. Like he hadn't been before.

He found Loki examining a painting hanging on the wall, one Pepper had picked out. Tony had observed her particular fondness for it, so he had made sure to display it prominently in the entry hall. He was sure she appreciated that act-she smiled whenever she walked by it. It was an up-close portrait of a peregrine falcon (Pepper loved birds), diving just above a forest-you could see the tops of the trees at the bottom of the painting. It was very realistic, Tony had always thought. It captured the lines just right, and the details were impeccable. He should really find out who had painted it. The knowledge might impress Pepper, at least.

Loki stood with his back up against the wall opposite the piece of art. As he approached the trickster, Tony realized that he wasn't just standing next to the wall-he was leaning on it. Up close and without the glare from the sun, Tony could see the beads of sweat on Loki's forehead and on the dark circles beneath his red-rimmed eyes. _He _really_ doesn't look good._ Was he sick (could gods even get sick?), or just really mentally messed up? He wanted to ask what was wrong-Tony liked to pry, and he certainly didn't want Loki passing out or puking on the furniture or anything-but something told him that drawing attention to any weakness of Loki's probably wasn't the smartest idea. And even though Thor had assured him Loki no longer possessed the ability to do magic, he figured he should still tread carefully around him.

"You like birds?" he chose to ask instead.

Loki immediately turned his gaze away from the painting to study him, hostility written all over his face, but apparently he could find no bad intentions on Tony's part (probably because there were none). He turned to look back at the painting before answering.

"I like birds of prey. I admire their beauty and their efficiency."

His tone was one of reflection, and Tony didn't really know how to respond. Luckily, Bruce and Thor had caught up to them by that point, so Tony led the way to the lounge.

Thor found the elevator fascinating. He made a little noise of excitement when the floor started to move upward beneath him, a reaction to which Loki rolled his eyes. Tony made a mental note that, if this this turned into an extended stay, he needed to give the thunder god a room on one of the top floors so he could play with his new toy.

Stark Tower's lounge was spacious and comfortable, with soft couches and deep, cushiony chairs. Tony motioned for his guests to sit down. Loki immediately sank into a chair, and Tony thought he seemed to sag into it in exhaustion. Thor, looking a bit irritated but not surprised at the fact that his brother had chosen a seat that did not allow Thor to sit directly beside him, selected a place on the end of a couch next to Loki's chair. Bruce sat on the other side of the room, clearly wanting to stay as far away from Loki as possible to avoid upsetting him.

"Okay, who wants what?" Tony asked casually, sidling over to the large refrigerator in the kitchenette next to the bar. "I've got...a wide assortment. Food, drinks, you name it, I can probably produce some derivative of it."

"Poptarts?" asked Thor hopefully. Obviously he had been waiting a long time for the opportunity to indulge in the sugar-filled pastries since his first trip to Earth.

"Uh, yeah, here you go." Tony produced a box of Wildberry Poptarts from one of the cabinets and set them on the counter. "Poptarts for Point Break, how about the rest of you?"

"I just had coffee, I'm good to go," said Bruce with a small smile.

"Negative for Doctor Doom. What about you, Loki?" Tony figured the best way to approach the incredible awkwardness of Loki's presence among them was to treat him like the rest of his guests, but perhaps a bit more carefully. "I guess I still owe you that drink. Offer still stands, if you want it. Or you can take a raincheck again. All the same to me." He pretended to busy himself searching the refrigerator for something while he waited for Loki's response, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

There was silence from the chair.

"Hey, look, I'm not gonna poison it or anything. I'm not that kinda guy. You're my guest and I'm offering you a drink. Or some food. Or both, if you want. That's all there is to it. Really." He did wait for Loki's response this time, and after several seconds he was rewarded with the quiet voice saying,

"I'll have a glass of water, please."

So apparently the second prince of Asgard possessed some manners, or at least he did when he wasn't trying to take over the world. Funny what you can learn about people when they randomly show up, newly mortal, on your doorstep.

"Coming right up. Nothing to eat? I've got some relatively healthy somethings around here, if you're not into two-hundred calorie pastries like the Thunderous Wonder over there." Tony pointed to Thor, who had already demolished two Poptarts and was working on his third. He saw Loki smirk at the nickname and mentally congratulated himself. As much as he'd hated Old Loki, seeing how unsettled he'd been when he had been standing outside on the doorstep had bothered Tony. Here was a piece of the Loki he knew.

Loki looked momentarily like he was going to refuse, but then he caught Thor's eye. Thor raised an eyebrow in an almost threatening manner. Loki thought for another few seconds before asking, hesitantly,

"Do you have...apples?"

"Um, maybe downstairs somewhere. I've got applesauce here in the fridge, though. The unsweetened kind, good for hangovers." He chuckled, and he saw Bruce grin.

"That will suffice." The response was upright and princely, and Tony had to stifle a laugh. He took down a ceramic coffee mug and filled it up with applesauce from the jar and stuck a spoon in it. Then he brought it and a glass of water over and handed them to Loki before going to sit on the couch next to Bruce. Loki murmured a polite but emotionless "thank you", as though he were only thanking Tony because he felt obligated to do so. Whatever. Tony didn't let that kind of stuff bother him. What _did _bother him a little was the way Loki attacked the glass of water, drinking it almost desperately, like he hadn't drank in a day. He wanted to tell him to slow down, not to make himself sick. Still, he thought better not to mention it-damaging Loki's pride in any way seemed like a bad idea right now.

"Okay, Thunder Boy, what's the story?"

Thor swallowed the final bite of his fourth Poptart and sighed softly. "Our father wishes to show Midgard that Asgard wants nothing but peace with its people, and he has ordered Loki and I to assist with the repairs to your city."

Tony would have thought Thor would be excited about this-after all, he seemed quite fond of their little planet, and his regretful speech on the helicarrier about courting war in his youth made Tony think that he would love to participate in any kind of peace effort, especially if it would mean helping to remove the tarnish from his brother's name. But Thor sounded slightly frustrated, and decidedly tired. There had to be more to this than he was letting on, and Tony had a pretty good guess as to what-or rather, _who_-the problem pertained.

Thor was continuing. "I truly am sorry to barge in on you like this and just expect your hospitality, but we really had no idea where else we could go."

"No," Tony shook his head at Thor's apology. "Coming here was a great idea. I've got the space, and not even you, Thor, can eat me out of house and home." They both chuckled. "Of course you can stay. As long as Baby Bad doesn't try anything, of course."

Loki glowered at him but did not say anything. Huh. Not even a smart-aleck remark or a return insult? Something was definitely off.

"Under my supervision and without his powers, there is very little Loki can do by way of harm," said Thor, softly and almost regretfully. Tony whole-heartedly wished he hadn't brought up the subject. That he had just left it all to chance. He changed the subject.

"So, if your rainbow bridge got broken, how come the two of you were able to come down and stay for an indefinite period of time?"

Thor's eyes flicked briefly to Loki's before responding. "There is...a different spell that the Allfather has discovered that will allow us to stay on Midgard for as long as it takes to complete our task. It is not a comfortable experience to endure, but it will prove very useful until the Bifrost is repaired."

Tony nodded as though he understood. Spells, magic...it was all a bit outside of his domain as an engineer. Science versus the supernatural-a conflict for the ages. Suddenly, he heard Bruce's voice, quiet but concerned.

"Hang on. What if S.H.I.E.L.D. gets wind of the fact Loki is here? Wouldn't they come for him?"

Another flame of fear leapt in Loki's eyes, but Tony shook his head calmingly.

"I don't think they will. Nick Fury definitely isn't watching us right now. Unless someone recognized you two on your way to the tower, it's doubtful he's even aware you're not still in Asgard. And just in case you did set off some deja vu, we'll just hang out here for a couple of days. Lay low, plan, that sort of thing. Nothing says we have to jump in this minute, right?"

Thor shook his head. "No, I don't suppose so."

That matter put to rest, there was an awkward silence. No one was really certain where to take the conversation next. After about half a minute, Loki got fed up with the elephant in the room-his own presence-and sighed exasperatedly.

"All right, I know that to get anywhere you are going to have to talk about me, and I would rather not be here for it, if it is all the same to you." He set aside his cup of applesauce-he hadn't exactly licked it clean, but the majority of the sweet mush was gone-and unsteadily got to his feet, grasping the arm of the chair for support.

"Right. Uh, I'll take you to your room. I've got one at the end of a hallway with a green theme. You'll love it." Tony grinned and rose as well. "I'll be right back, boys. Play nicely." Bruce snorted softly.

They took the elevator up to the seventy-ninth floor, and the doors opened to reveal a hallway containing guest suites. Loki silently trailed behind Tony, seeming to continue losing ground with every few steps. Tony slowed his own pace in response. When they reached the end of the hall, Tony opened the door to the bedroom and motioned inside with a flourish.

"Ta-da! It might not be up to a prince's standards, but it's much more comfortable than the Holiday Inn, I can assure you. King-sized bed, shower _and_ jacuzzi in the attached bathroom...it's got it all. I can find you some books if you'd like. I know I have _something_ around here that's not engineering-related..."

"That will not be necessary at the moment. I plan to retire to bed immediately." Loki's response was clipped and matter-of-fact.

"Okay. Well, there should be some PJs in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. I think they'll fit you. Other than that, you should be good to go. You'll be okay in here?" It was his way of asking both if he could get anything else for Loki and if he really felt like he was going to pass out at any moment, which was how he looked to Tony.

"I shall be fine, thank you," responded Loki curtly, and nodded to Tony.

"Well, okay then. 'Night." He got no response, so Tony shut the door without further comment and headed back to the lounge. This was all so _weird._

Thor and Bruce were still sitting where he had left them. Bruce appeared to be attempting to describe how an elevator worked, and Thor was looking like he wished he hadn't asked. Tony to the rescue.

"Got Baby Bad down for his nap. Or at least I think so. He said he would. Hey Big Guy, I don't know if you've noticed, but your little brother doesn't look so good, don't you think?"

Thor sighed and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Stressed out was not a look that suited the mighty and powerful god of thunder, thought Tony.

"It is the punishment to which the Allfather sentenced him. He put Loki to sleep for twenty-four hours and forced him to endure a nightmare from the point of view of every person he hurt or killed on Midgard, as well as the families of those that he killed, including those that died as an indirect result of his actions. That was a week ago. He's barely spoken since then, and he did not come out of his chamber until Father called us before the throne earlier today. That," he pointed to the cup of applesauce, "is the most he has eaten all week. He does not sleep well-he does not mention it, but I can tell how terribly the nightmares plague him every time he tries to rest. He is making himself ill, but he staunchly refuses to allow me to help him in any way. I fear for him-if he does not start taking care of himself..." Thor trailed off, shaking his head. "The truth is, I do not even think he can do anything to help with the repairs until he recovers. But at this rate, I do not know..." He sighed and swallowed hard. "But I cannot help him find peace with himself if he will not _talk_ to me. I am helpless to aid him until he lets me in."

Wow. And Tony had thought _his_ nightmares were bad. He felt guilty for Yinsen's death, sure, as well as for those of others killed by the weapons he used to manufacture, but none of it had happened with ill intent. Loki had delighted in causing those people pain, and then he'd had to _live_ every single experience? Talk about your guilt trips! Yeah, he'd screwed up, but this sounded more like torture than punishment. And Tony knew all too well that mental tortures could be the worst kind.

"Yikes." Was all he could muster. For once in his life, he was damned near speechless. Apparently Thor's speech had had the opposite effect on the normally quiet and reserved Bruce Banner.

"What the hell was your dad _thinking_? You don't fix crazy with more crazy! It's a wonder Loki's still coherent. Hell, it's a wonder he's still alive!"

Thor glared at him for the insult to his father and what might have been interpreted as an obtuse one to his brother, but he did not sustain the expression. He did not seem to have the energy nor the will to do so. Tony reached out to pat Bruce's arm a couple of times.

"Hey, easy buddy. Getting angry's not gonna fix it."

Bruce took a couple of deep breaths before speaking, his voice returning to its usual calmness. "I'm okay."

Thor sighed. "You are right, Banner. My father said that Loki should consider himself fortunate that his punishment would also afford him the opportunity to learn from his mistakes. Perhaps he was thinking he could...what is it you Midgardians say? Strike two birds with one pebble?"

"Close enough," said Tony with a half-grin.

"My father is a good, wise king," Thor continued. "All I can think is that he believes Loki will heal in time. I wish I shared his confidence."

"Whether time will help him or not, it's that he's trying to deal with this alone is where it's all gonna go wrong," said Tony, before he realized what he was saying about himself. He had been doing the very same thing for quite awhile now. He had opened up to Pepper about some of it, but the really deep-seated stuff remained stewing within the depths of his heart. He wasn't really good at baring his soul-not at all like Thor, who pretty much wore his heart permanently sewn to his sleeve, or Cap, whose level of emotion was directly proportional to his level of fierceness. _Gotta be careful there, Tony. Can't go wrecking your emotional concealment just because some broken-down little god comes in and reminds you of...well, you._ Jesus, that was a terrifying thought.

Thor clasped his hands in front of him and looked down at them. "I have tried to reach out to him, to help him. Believe me, how I have _tried._ But he hates me. Really _hates_ me. And he has every right to do so, I suppose. I was always too blind and vain to notice how much of our father's love was directed toward me growing up, and how little toward my brother. I just...I wonder if things would have turned out differently if our father had told Loki what he was from the beginning. If it all would have eventually become to much to bear and he would have broken the way he did when he was finally told, or if he would have just kept bottling it all up inside like he did for so many years."

Bruce studied Thor curiously. "What do you mean 'what he was'? I know you said he was adopted."

Thor sighed sadly. "Loki is not just adopted. He is a Jotun, a Frost Giant. A very long time ago, when I was a baby, the Jotuns attacked Midgard, with the intent of turning it into a frozen wasteland. My father led the Asgardian army to the aid of Midgard and defeated Laufey, the Jotun king. When the battle was over, Father found Laufey's son in the temple, abandoned to his death. Loki was an _infant_! They left him to die just because he was smaller than they would have liked..." Thor's fists clenched in anger. "The Jotun are an inherently evil race-they seek destruction, and deal harshly with one another as well as with other races. But not Loki. Never Loki." He swallowed hard and his voice dropped in volume, and though his gaze was fixed on the floor Tony could see tears streaming down his cheeks. "He was not always as you know him. He was kind and sweet, thoughtful, loving. He was always fond of his mischief and pranks, but he never played them with malice. And he _did_ love me, once..." Thor's voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands.

Tony didn't really know what to do with this. He really, _really_ wasn't good with this sort of thing. Neither he nor Bruce said anything for a few moments as they waited for the thunder god to collect himself.

"I am sorry," said Thor after several seconds, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "I know that you have no reason to believe me, and I would not blame you if you did not take what I say about my brother to be true. You can know only what you have seen, and Loki has only shown you this madness that has befallen him. You have every reason to think him evil, but I have seen that this is not who he truly is. He has...lost who he is somehow. I just wish I knew how to help him find himself again."

"Okay, first of all, this is _not_ your fault. It sounds to me like you've done more to try and get through to Loki than most brothers ever would have. Second, if you say Loki wasn't always...the way he is now..." Tony could tell Bruce was trying hard to avoid making any comments having to do with bags and cats. "...then we believe you. I mean, no one can start out like that, right? Something usually happens to make them that way." What Bruce didn't say was what they were all thinking.

_But is the damage undoable?_

Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but damned if Tony wasn't going to try. For Thor, if for nothing else. Whacked-up family and ridiculous appetite or not, Thor was his friend, and it was obvious just how much his brother's plight was hurting him. The mighty god of thunder looked anything _but_ mighty at the moment, shiny streaks still staining his face where tears had fallen.

Besides, Tony was a risk-taker. Quitting the weapons business, leading the way in clean energy, building the suit (and constantly changing the suit), opening what he did of himself to Pepper (okay, he was still working on that particular risk)-and he was nothing if not stubborn. Loki was a challenge, but he was one Tony suddenly wanted to tackle.

"Well, it looks like Manhattan won't be the only thing we're repairing. Apparently we have a god to fix, too. Sounds like a plan."

Thor regarded him with surprise and skepticism, but it was the most hopeful he'd looked since he'd arrived.

"What exactly do you mean, Stark? As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I know that Loki does not trust you."

"I know. Feeling's mutual. He threw me out of a window. And I don't really know what I mean. I'm kinda hoping it will just work itself out. That's how I generally live my life, anyway. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't. I haven't really figured out a better way yet...But anyway, I think that maybe being away from Asgard is a good start. You're dad's at the center of all of this, so maybe it will help Loki to be away from him. Literally, worlds away." He grinned at the thought. "We'll give him a little bit of time, start planning our repairs on the city, intervene a little but not too much, and just sort of play it by ear."

Bruce nodded, agreeing with what he was saying. Thor gazed earnestly at Tony.

"Thank you, Stark, from the bottom of my heart. I am incredibly grateful for your kindness and willingness to accept myself and my brother into your home, despite what he has done. And your offer to involve yourself in this awful mess my brother has fallen into is more than I could ever have asked for."

Tony shrugged. "It's nothing. Gotta keep things lively, right?" He winked at Bruce, who rolled his eyes. He knew the doctor wasn't really a fan of _lively_, and for good reason. But he seemed willing to play along. Tony remembered his angry reaction when Thor had described Loki's punishment, and he wondered if maybe Bruce's doctor-doctor (not gamma-ray-doctor) side was coming out a little bit. Tony thought that the opportunity to show compassion must be good for someone who seemed to innately possess so much of it but had been on his own for so much of his life. Maybe Loki wouldn't be the only one they'd be fixing.

He glanced at his watch. It was already eight pm-the time had flown.

"I say we start those repair plans in the morning. Tonight, it's TV dinners and _Star Trek_!"


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm so thrilled with the continued interest in this fic. Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing, and please keep it up! One note: I am going on a trip (touring a vet school, going to an amusement park, and doing a model horse show!) from Wednesday-Sunday of this week, and it is questionable when I will be able to get up Chapter 6. It might be on Thursday, if we have internet at the hotel. If not, it will be Monday. Either way, service will resume as normal on Tuesday. Thanks for your patience! :)**

**And now...Bruce's POV! As a pre-medical professional (pre-vet, to be precise), I _love_ writing Bruce. It's so easy for me to get inside his head. I hope you enjoy!**

If Bruce had thought Thor seemed infatuated with elevators, he was even more so by television. He kept trying to speak to the little people inside the screen. And he seemed to enjoy the stories in the show, although the concept of science fiction was completely lost on him. To the Asgardian, there was no difference between what was happening on _Star Trek_ and what he was experiencing on Earth in the twenty-first century. Except, of course, for the fact that the show took place in outer space, and that was where Thor could not resist pointing out the inaccuracies.

"But the ties that bind the universe together would never allow..." He began for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Hammer Time, I swear if you say _one more word_, I'm gonna repulser you all the way to Qo'nos!" Tony was obviously getting annoyed. Thor looked confused as he attempted to puzzle out the reference of the nickname. Bruce couldn't hold back a small chuckle. How many years had it been since he had had a movie night with friends? College? He didn't count the ones with Betty-he'd always been concentrating more on her than the movie during those times. She usually made him watch romantic comedies, anyway. He realized that here, safe and in control and surrounded by people who cared about him, it didn't hurt as much to think about Betty. That hollow ache in his chest throbbed just an iota less.

They stayed up until almost one. Bruce was the first to throw in the towel. Tony and Thor might be experienced at the art of partying, but a life on the run had taught Bruce the importance of a good night's sleep. Besides, he was _tired_. It wasn't like nothing eventful had happened that day.

He slept in until half past nine, a rare occurrence for him, but he found his friends in the breakfast kitchen on the sixty-eighth floor. Thor was seated on a barstool at the island, devouring an enormous stack of Bisquick pancakes. Tony's fork was poised on his own, smaller stack, but he was too busy observing the ravenous god with wonder to focus on eating his own food.

"Hey, there he is!" Tony greeted Bruce with a smile when he saw him. "Want some pancakes? I saved some out before turning The Bottomless Pit here loose on them."

"Sure, thanks." Bruce pulled out the stool on Thor's other side and hoisted himself up on it. He felt ironically small up next to the enormous deity. Thor swallowed yet another bite and turned to grin at him.

"Good morning, Dr. Banner. Did you sleep well?"

Bruce failed at stifling a contented yawn, more the product of just having woken than an improper rest. "Yeah, I did, thanks. Um..." He wasn't really sure how to bring up this topic after seeing Thor's sensitive reaction the previous night. He couldn't really think of a better way, so he addressed it casually. "Seen any of Loki this morning?"

Despite Bruce's offhand method, Thor's blue eyes clouded with worry at the mention of his brother's name, and he shook his head.

"I am sorry to say that I have not, although I cannot admit surprise," he said mournfully.

"Maybe he's still asleep," suggested Tony optimistically as he plunked down a plate with four pancakes, a bottle of maple syrup, a glass of orange juice, a mug of coffee, and a carton of half-and-half in front of Bruce. Bruce grinned his thanks and set to work mixing the half-and-half with his coffee.

"That is doubtful," Thor responded. "My brother was always the early riser of the family, and I the late sleeper. And I believe he is sleeping even less now, with his nightmares plaguing him so." He sighed, suddenly seeming less interested in what little remained of his pancakes. "I am going to go up there and see if I can coax him into eating some breakfast."

An inkling popped into Bruce's mind. He chose his words carefully, not being sure if what he said would upset the thunder god in any way. He knew he tended to be rather sensitive when it came to the state of his relationship with his brother.

"Thor, if you don't mind, I'd like to bring him up his food."

Thor shook his head. "I do not think that is wise, Dr. Banner. Loki is terrified of you, or at least of your monster. I worry that seeing you would only upset him further."

Bruce had anticipated this response. "I know he's scared of me, and he's got every right to be. If he starts to freak out, I promise I'll leave him alone. But I'm thinking that maybe me convincing him that I'm not going to hurt him might make him feel a little more at ease here."

Thor contemplated this for a moment. "You do make a good point. I will accompany you to Loki's chambers. Perhaps my presence will help to make him feel safe."

This, Bruce had not been prepared for. Flat-out refusal, yes. Offering to come with him, no. He thought quickly.

"Um, I'm thinking maybe it would be better if just one of us went up there at a time. Two people might make him feel...overwhelmed, like we're trying to force him into something. He doesn't strike me as the type of person who would take well to that kind of thing." What he didn't say was that obviously Thor's attempts at reaching Loki thus far had been unsuccessful, and that it was time somebody new gave it a try. He desperately did not want to harm the thunderer's already damaged emotions regarding that subject. To his surprise, Thor conceded.

"All right. But promise me you will leave if he starts to act very frightened."

"I promise," Bruce reassured him, admittedly feeling rather proud of himself for having convinced Thor to let him try to speak with Loki alone.

"Okay then," Tony broke in, "Think Prince Finicky would go for pancakes?"

Thor furrowed his brow. "With him acting the way he is now? It is difficult to say what he will eat."

"We'd better play it safe for the time being. He must have eaten _something_ this past week. What was it?"

Thor shrugged. "He likes apples. He prefers them sliced. I've been bringing them to him with every meal, and he has eaten more of them than anything else, though it is still precious little."

"Sliced? Really?" Thor nodded innocently and Tony rolled his eyes. "Okay, then, sliced apples it is." He opened the refrigerator and took a moment to locate the fruit drawer. Bruce guessed with amusement that Pepper was usually the only one to open that drawer. If he had observed anything about his new friend in the week he had been living in Stark Tower, it was that Tony wasn't exactly a health nut.

"Okay, I've got some galas. What to drink? Coffee? OJ?"

Thor cocked his head to the side, looking entertainingly like a confused Cocker Spaniel. Bruce stifled a laugh at the picture.

"He means orange juice." He gestured to the glass of colorful, citrus liquid in front of him, and Thor's expression indicated understanding.

"Oh. No, nothing with citrus. It gives him a stomachache." He paused and thought for a moment. "He likes tea."

Thor had no knowledge of tea names and could provide little insight beyond the fact that Loki liked his tea hot, not being a particularly avid drinker of the beverage himself. Between them, Bruce and Tony decided on chai because they thought Loki seemed like a chai kind of guy. Really, they were just playing blindfolded darts and hoping for the best.

Ten minutes later (it would have been faster if Tony had allowed Bruce to slice the apple, but he had been intent on proving that his culinary skills extended beyond coffee and Bisquick), Bruce stood outside Loki's bedroom door with a tray of chai tea, two pancakes, and a shakily sliced gala apple. After several moments' hesitation and apprehension about what was to come, he finally mustered up the gumption to knock.

He expected either to be ordered away or not to receive a verbal response at all, but after a couple of seconds' hesitation, he heard Loki's muffled voice ask,

"Who is it?"

He swallowed. "It's Bruce. I thought you might like some breakfast. May I come in?" Actually, he, Thor, and Tony had thought Loki might like some breakfast, but he thought it best not to even mention them. Dr. Robert Bruce Banner was a scientist, and scientists thought before they did things-formed a hypothesis, weighed the pros and cons, predicted outcomes. Granted, he was a nuclear physicist and not a psychologist, but still, the basic principle was the same. The scientific method and all of that.

_Just keep thinking, Bruce._

There was silence for quite awhile from the other side of the door, and Bruce was unsure of what to do next. He couldn't hardly just barge in, could he? That was not very polite. But if he returned downstairs without having given the tray to Loki, he would look like an idiot and Thor would just take it back up himself, and they would be back where they had begun.

He was about to find a happy, minimally obtrusive medium and leave the tray on the floor outside the door when Loki finally spoke.

"You may."

Despite it being barely audible through the door, Bruce did not miss the haughty, stiff tone. But when he opened the door, he quickly realized that it was just a facade, for Loki was failing miserably at hiding his fear of him. He was still in bed with the covers pulled up to his chest, leaning back against the pillows and watching Bruce like a cornered cat watches a hungry Rottweiler. He said nothing as Bruce entered and set the tray down on the bedside table, but those piercing green eyes followed his every move.

"Um, I wasn't sure if you'd like pancakes, but Tony made some so I brought you some. They're good with the maple syrup. Do you have syrup on Asgard?" He was rambling, he knew, and he felt even more idiotic when Loki did not say anything in response. So of course, being the socially awkward person that he was, he just continued talking. "And Thor said you like tea and apples, so...yeah. It's chai tea. Black." He had officially run out of things to say now, but there was still no verbal response from Loki. God, he looked positively _petrified._ Bruce's memories of the times he Hulked out were always severely limited and obscured, so he did not know how Loki had behaved during the battle the previous week, but he did distinctly recall the moment he had been working in the lab on the helicarrier and had seen the god being led in to the holding cell of steel and glass. Loki had smirked at him, looking so confident and calculating and downright _evil_ that it had made Bruce nervous. To see him now, in such an antithetic state to the one he had been in that day, should by all rights have brought Bruce some form of satisfaction-after all, Loki had destroyed a large portion of Manhattan and caused the deaths of many innocent people, and Bruce had, as the Other Guy, brought about his defeat. But he felt nothing positive as he looked at Loki.

Bruce was not only a nuclear physicist, but also a medical school dropout. He had found what he thought was his true calling when he was almost finished with his training to be a physician and had left to pursue it. But after his accident and unwittingly unleashing the rage of his alternate identity on the unsuspecting Harlem, he had fled the United States to India, where he had turned to his memories of his nearly-completed medical studies to earn just enough to get by in the impoverished city of Calcutta. On the day Natasha Romanoff had found him, he had been run ragged due to an outbreak of dengue fever. Those people crying out in unbearable pain and delirious with fever-it was so _real_, not at all like medical school. It had made him realize just how much he hated seeing people hurting. And the man-or god or whatever-who sat in front of him had clearly been hurt very badly.

He knew what Thor had said. If Loki started to act really scared, he should leave. He had agreed to those terms, yes. But sometimes compromise could just go to hell, and this was one of those times. Bruce looked Loki in the eyes, and he saw the god swallow and shrink back away from him. No, this wasn't _right_. He tried to think back, to remember. Sometimes, if he tried hard enough, he could see pieces...what had he _done_?

He instinctively held out his palms in a gesture indicating that he carried nothing he could harm Loki with, which was ironic because they both knew that he could not have shed his weapon if he tried-he carried it always, inside of him. But Bruce made his voice as gentle as possible in hopes that it might ease the overall effect.

"Look, I know that you're not used to not having your magic, and that's making this whole thing pretty scary for you. But if we're going to work together to rebuild the city, then you have to stop being afraid of me. When we fought before, we were on opposite sides. Different armies. That's why the Other Guy hurt you. But I'm in control of him, and now there is absolutely no reason why he should come out. I don't _want_ to hurt you, Loki."

As eloquent and heartfelt as his speech was, it did nothing to quell the worry in Loki's eyes. The fallen god was silent for several seconds before he spoke. As terrified as he looked, Bruce expected Loki's voice to shake. But it was as smooth and fluid as normal, if not decidedly quieter.

"Maybe _you_ do not, but your monster does. It hates me."

Bruce sighed internally. This was not going as he had hoped. This was not at all the Loki he had thought he knew. But then, when had he ever known Loki at all? He couldn't stand it anymore. He _had_ to know what the Other Guy had done.

"Did he hurt you very badly?" He felt as though he was talking to one of his younger patients back in Calcutta, trying very gently to coax them into trusting him. But the easy part with them was that they had no knowledge of his horrible secret. Their fear stemmed only from the fact that they were hurting and scared; Loki's did as well, but also from so much more than that.

Loki scoffed at the question, but it was forced, as though he was desperately trying to put on a nonchalant face to mask his obvious fear. "Is that was this is about? You've come to gloat about your victory over me in battle? Can you not see what I have already been reduced to? Have I not suffered enough?" The last question was the most mocking of them all, and the tone seemed ironic to Bruce, as though Loki did not believe the answer to be _yes_.

Bruce shook his head calmly. "No, that's not it at all. When I am...the Hulk, I have very few memories of my actions. He is driven only by rage and the need to destroy. I like to fix things, and I hate what he does. I want to make things better, but first I have to know what it was that he did."

Loki swallowed, his piercing green eyes searching Bruce's fervently, obviously attempting to assess the depth of his honesty. Finally, he spoke once more, his voice barely a whisper.

"He broke every one of my ribs. Even with the power of the Tesseract linked with my own, it took every ounce of my strength to repair the damage enough to even lift myself from the floor." He closed his eyes for a moment, and his face drew into a wince, obviously recalling the breathtaking pain.

_That would explain a lot,_ thought Bruce. _No wonder he's absolutely terrified of me. I would be terrified of me, too, if I did that to me._

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Are you...better now?"

"If you mean have I recovered from my injuries, then yes. Enough of the Tesseract's power lingered within my own magic long enough after it had been turned off to allow me the chance to complete the healing process in the hours following the battle. The injury has not troubled me since."

"Good." Bruce nodded slowly. It seemed as though Loki was starting to relax ever so slightly. As ever, his voice retained its regal, proud bearing, and his words seemed to come with less hesitation. His body also seemed to be losing infinitesimal amounts of its tenseness. "Again, I do apologize. Really."

Loki's eyes narrowed as he studied him. "Why should you apologize? What reason have you to regret the actions of your monster? Why _should_ you care what I suffered? I am your enemy. I hurt people, _killed_ people. Surely I deserved what I got. Even your asinine beast recognized that."

"You _were_ our enemy," Bruce corrected softly. "And I have very good reasons. I'm a doctor. A nuclear physicist, technically, but also a people-doctor. Well, almost. Not officially." He noticed through his ramblings that Loki seemed thoroughly confused, and as a consequence was beginning to look worried again. "Um, doctor...uh...healer! That's it, that's what you guys call it. Before I joined the Avengers, I was in a very impoverished town helping people who were ill to get well. I found out that helping people was what I really wanted to do with my life. I mean, obviously nuclear physics didn't end up working out so well for me." He chuckled ironically. "Before I learned to control him, the Other Guy...the Hulk, inside me...he hurt a lot of people. Some of them died. I felt so horrible about what he'd done-what _I'd_ done. I still do. But I realized that the only way to begin to deal with that guilt was to go out and help people while I was me. I suppose in a way, I'm trying to balance out what the Other Guy has done. For every hurt he's caused, I'm trying to do some good in return. And in doing that good, I've realized just how much I like helping people who are hurting."

"And so you intend to help me? To pretend like nothing ever happened? Like I've done nothing wrong and am some innocent to be protected? If you think that will work, Dr. Banner, then you have a convoluted perception of reality. Admirable, but severely convoluted." Loki was now regarding him with a grave expression, as though he was concerned for Bruce's sanity, but Bruce thought he detected the tiniest bit of surprise hidden below the surface. What surprised _him_ was how much Loki seemed to have dropped his guard. Maybe he was just glad to finally have someone different to talk to-someone who was not his older brother. As kind and caring as Thor was, Bruce could easily see how he could potentially be a little bit smothering.

Loki then sighed resignedly, as though he finally accepted that he was, in fact, having a conversation with a member of a group of people from whom he desperately wished to distance himself, but was being forced to retain a close physical proximity to. Perhaps he was choosing the lesser of all the evils. After all, if Bruce hadn't brought him his breakfast, it would have either been Thor or Tony Stark. Bruce snickered inwardly just as Loki began to speak again.

"I suppose Thor has told you of the punishment the Allfather is so proud to have dreamed up for me in exchange for my little attempt to rule your realm. I must admit, it was a creative idea, even by my standards." He gave an ironic, humorless chuckle.

Bruce nodded slowly. "For what it's worth...I don't agree with it. The punishment, I mean. You were going through a hard enough time without nightmares like that to add to your problems." He realized what he had said too late. Loki regarded him with shock for a second, and then anguish filled his eyes.

"Of course he told you all of that, as well. Everything, I am sure. I should not be so surprised. That utter fool always bears his every emotion for all to see and could not keep a secret if his ugly head depended upon it." His tone was biting, but Bruce could see the betrayal in his gaze.

"Thor only told us those things because he's worried about you. He loves you..." Loki started to interrupt, but Bruce held up a hand to silence him. Loki shrank back, fear suddenly becoming evident upon his face once more, as though the move toward physical contact reminded him of his painful encounter with the Hulk. Bruce lowered his voice to try to coax him back into a more confident state. "He loves you and he wants to help you, but you haven't exactly been letting him. He doesn't know what to do, so he confided in Tony and me because we're his friends. He...Thor was pretty upset last night. Maybe you'd start to feel a bit better too if you opened up a little to him."

Loki breathed out loudly through his nose. "Thor thinks everything will be better if I would just fall into his arms and cry myself to sleep. He does not realize that I am no longer a child, and that the things I have seen cannot be erased by an embrace and a few soothing words. He would not understand what I have seen or experienced or felt over the past couple of months, or my entire life, so there is no use burdening him with it."

Loki's tone was so cold and sharp that it was nearly as tangible as the edge of a knife's blade, but it was his words that stood out to Bruce. He recalled Thor's tale the previous night and remembered the tears shed by the enormous, muscular god as he lamented the pending loss of his beloved brother. _"He _did_ love me, once..."_

"So you mean you don't hate him? You're pushing him away because you care about him?"

Dammit, he should really learn to think before he spoke. He had not intended for this conversation to go this far. The plan had been to interfere with Loki minimally, but here was Bruce driving right to the heart of his insecurities when, ten minutes ago, he hadn't even been able to get Loki to speak to him. So much for building trust.

But, to Bruce's utter amazement, Loki did not turn on him. There were no hateful remarks or orders to leave the room at once. Instead, Loki seemed to withdraw into himself for several seconds before answering, his voice barely audible.

"It is simply because, through my nightmares, I have seen and experienced firsthand the pain caused by my attempt on Midgard. I regret that pain, and I do not wish to cause more."

It was the most eloquent avoidance of a question that Bruce had ever heard. He certainly was not going to push the matter. He had meddled enough-now it was time to leave Loki alone. Plus, talking about emotions scared him almost as much as it appeared to scare Tony. The label of Socially Awkward didn't come without a reason.

"Well, I know it would make Thor feel good if you ate something, and I think you'd feel better, too. We're going to work on some preliminary plans for the reconstruction today. You're always welcome to join us. JARVIS, the computer, can tell you where we are if you ask."

Loki nodded without comment, and Bruce took his leave.

When Thor asked him later about how Loki had behaved during their encounter, Bruce would want very much to tell him what had been said. He wanted Thor to know that he had reason to believe that the explanation for why his brother continually broke whatever ties Thor tried to form with him and say hurtful things and distance himself as far as possible from the brother who so obviously loved him so much was because he _cared_ about him. He would rather suffer alone than have Thor be hurt by knowing the true depths of the horrors he had experienced, so Loki was choosing what he believed to be the lesser of two evils. It was so incredibly unlike what Bruce had expected, and seeing Thor believing that his brother truly hated him was heartbreaking.

But he didn't tell Thor any of those things. Somehow, he felt as though he would be betraying Loki's confidence if he did, even if Loki had not expressly asked him not to share the details of their conversation with Thor. And their confidence was so shaky-frankly, Bruce found it pretty unbelievable that said confidence even existed-that he didn't want to do anything to cause it to crack even the tiniest bit. So he told Thor that he had reassured Loki that the Other Guy would not come out and hurt him, and that Loki seemed to be less afraid of him now. And that was it. Thor looked pleased at this-after all, the intended outcome of the whole endeavor had been to make Loki less afraid of Bruce, and that had clearly worked. There was no disappointment in his eyes, for things were going as planned.

So, despite feeling slightly disgusted at himself for keeping something from his friend which would have made him very happy, Bruce kept the true contents of his conversation with Loki to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to everyone for commenting! In this chapter, things will decidedly start to go wrong with Loki physically. Yep, you knew it was coming. ;) Also, I think this is the first time for Thor's POV (it's the second part of the chapter). Enjoy!  
**

Tony, Bruce, and Thor spent the morning and most of the afternoon talking logistics. It was really boring, but necessary. There were plans to be made, people to be contacted, and funds to be allocated to correct areas of work. For dinner, Tony ordered Hibachi delivery for all four of the tower's current occupants. (Pepper, who was in Boston for a couple of weeks on company business, didn't really approve of commercial Hibachi. She said it had too much sodium. When did she become a nutritionist? Tony often wondered that.) Thor took his food and Loki's and went to eat dinner up in his brother's room. Tony guessed he felt bad for not having gone to see Loki yet that day. He figured the encounter would probably result in a one-sided conversation, with Thor relating to Loki all of their plans from that day, with Loki either telling him to leave him alone or ignoring him altogether. Despite Bruce swearing up and down that he had actually had something resembling a conversation with Loki that morning, the god of mischief hadn't left his room the entire day. It was obvious he wasn't feeling particularly social. Tony wondered if that wasn't Loki's default setting.

That left Tony and Bruce alone to eat their Hibachi. Tony chose to do so in his workshop. Bruce didn't even raise an eyebrow. It was obvious that he understood his friend's reason for choosing such an odd dining spot, and he followed Tony downstairs without question.

Tony moved aside enough papers and tools from his workbench to have a space for he and Bruce to put their take-out boxes and sodas, and plopped down on a stool. He then proceeded to dump four small plastic cups of white sauce onto his mixture of rice, steak, mushrooms, and vegetables (look, Pep, see, veggies!) and mix it vigorously with his fork. Bruce took the seat next to him and laced his food, chicken with broccoli, with a more conservative amount of sauce. They both chewed in silence for a few minutes before Bruce finally spoke.

"Okay, the longer you go without talking, the more convinced I am that something's bugging you. Not that you deciding to eat down here, the last place Thor is likely to try to interrupt us should Loki finally successfully manage to throw him out of his room, wasn't a big enough clue. Spill."

If it hadn't been for his uncharacteristically dark thoughts, Tony would have smiled at the doctor's forwardness. _You've come a long way in a short time, Big Man._ He stirred his food, which had become more of a soup of white sauce than stir fry, absently for a few seconds before he was able to get far enough past the mental block that was his damned emotions to say what was on his mind.

"What's bugging me? Coulson, that's what's bugging me."

"Ah." That was all Bruce said. He sounded as though he understood, but he was still obviously waiting for Tony to elaborate. Tony stared into his food as though it held all of life's elusive answers.

"He was a good man. He's the reason the Avengers exist, the reason the planet isn't in the hands of some magical lunatic with an army of aliens right now, and he believed in _good_, more than anyone I've ever met. It's only been a little over a week, and we're already playing host to his killer and planning to work with him and _help _him." He paused to finally look up at his friend. "Am I the only one who thinks there's something wrong with this picture?"

Bruce paused, taking in Tony's words and thinking about his own. Finally, he said hesitantly,

"But it's not just Coulson, is it? There's more to this."

_Damn._ How long had it been since they started hanging out-a week? And Bruce had him figured out perfectly. Well, they didn't hand out doctorates to just anybody.

"Yeah. I think it's just the sheer magnitude of damage that he did. And I don't mean damage like broken windows or even bringing down skyscrapers. I mean the human kind. I mean, who's to say he won't do it again? Which leads me to my next point. Loki is the god of mischief and lies and tricks and stuff like that, right? What if this is all a big trick? What if he hasn't actually had his magic stripped, and he's got Thor under some kind of spell?" He sighed, moving his rice from one side of his Styrofoam tray to the other, having given up on the Hibachi completely. "I guess I'm just trying to ask-are we really doing the smart thing here?"

"Probably not," Bruce responded without hesitation, his immediacy and confidence causing Tony to raise an eyebrow. "No, we probably aren't doing the smart thing. We didn't exactly think it through before offering to help Thor and Loki, did we? But that doesn't necessarily make it the _wrong_ thing, right? I mean, yeah, there is always the possibility that Loki's pulling one over on us, but if he really is telling the truth, then he really does need a lot of help, given what Thor told us last night."

"You think they're telling the truth?" Tony raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

Bruce's answer was quiet, but certain. "Yeah, I do." He paused to recall his conversation with Loki earlier that day. "When I went to see him this morning, he gave me reason to believe that, despite all of the resentment he holds against Thor for his unbalanced childhood, he doesn't really hate his brother as much as Thor thinks he does. I can't really explain it, and please don't tell Thor yet, but what I did see was that there's a level of brokenness there, especially after Odin's punishment, that just seems _real_ to me." He paused for a moment, as though lost in thought. Tony almost saw fit to interrupt the silence with some bad, out-of-place joke, but then his friend continued his thoughts.

"I just...I guess I know what it's like to have hurt people and regretted it afterwards. Loki's been made to see just how terrible his actions were, and now he's not proud of what he's done. And as for Coulson...I admit, I didn't know him like you did. Actually, I barely knew him at all. But if he's anything like the man you're describing, I think that he might actually have approved of this. He stood up for good, and we're doing good. In sort of an off-the-beaten-path, obtuse way, but we are."

Tony pictured the fallen agent in his mind, as he knew him-perfectly clean suit, dark sunglasses, perpetual half-smile. The man who had _almost_ lost his cool when Tony had told Pepper that his first name was actually "Agent". Tony had never seen Phil Coulson laugh, but he had come incredibly close that night. It would have been nice to see and hear, just once. Tony liked making people laugh.

Nick Fury's voice wheedled its way into his mind. As much as Tony would have loved to forget those horrible hours following the attack on the helicarrier, he knew he never could. Part of the "genius" designation of "Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist" was an eidetic memory-he remembered _everything_, even the things he didn't want to.

"_The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people-see if they could become something more. See if they could work together when we needed them to, to fight the battles that we never could. Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea. In heroes."_

_Heroes._ That speech had been manufactured to rile up him and Steve, yeah-when was Fury ever _not_ manipulative?-but that part had been the truth. The world saw the Avengers as superheroes, a concept which still made Tony secretly feel like an excited eight-year-old every time he thought about it. And yeah, they beat up bad guys and saved people and protected the general welfare of the public. But was that really what a hero _was_?Perhaps the term meant even more when taken out of a general context and focused on a specific person. Maybe you didn't need a flying metal suit or an indestructible shield or a magic hammer or the ability to become a giant green monster to be a hero. Maybe all you had to do was help someone when they needed it, even if they intended to fight you every step of the way.

Damn. Now he was getting philosophical. What the hell was happening to him?

"Yeah," he murmured finally, realizing how long he had been silent after Bruce had finished speaking. "Yeah, I guess we are. And I think you're right. I think he might have been kinda proud."

"Not to mention how much you love to take risks. You know, news of you leaving the weapons industry reached all the way to Calcutta. If you can do something _that_ huge because you believe it's right, then this all seems kinda...not risky."

Tony chuckled at that, even though Bruce's words kind of made him feel warm inside.

"Don't say that, Big Guy. You're tempting fate."

Bruce shot him a half-grin. "I tempt fate every time I decide to get out of bed in the morning."

Tony couldn't help but laugh at that, and was glad when Bruce joined in. Why hadn't he found this guy sooner?

~~~_The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me_~~~

They continued their planning through lunch the next day, and then Stark, who could only focus on logistics for so long, had officially declared the afternoon what he called "chillaxing time". Thor wasn't exactly sure what "chillaxing" meant, or if it was even a real word, but the result was that they did not do any more working on the reconstruction plans that day. He had to admit that this gladdened him-he had been getting rather tired of it himself.

His attempts to socialize with Loki over dinner the previous evening had been less than fruitful, although not unexpected. Stark had instructed a man over his phone to bring them a meal, and half an hour later, the food had appeared. It was much like having servants.

Stark and Banner had said that they thought it was a good idea to give Loki some space and try not to push him too hard into accepting help, so dinner was the first time Thor had seen his brother at all that day. He had meticulously picked out every little bit of onion from Loki's tray to avoid accidentally making him ill, and then brought both of their meals up to his brother's chambers, from whence Loki had not left the entire day.

Loki had thanked him when he presented him with the food and, when he had finished, had asked him to thank Stark as well, but that had essentially been the extent of his side of the conversation. However, Thor had been very pleased at the amount he had eaten-nearly all of his broccoli and zucchini, and a good third of his chicken and rice. It was still not up to his normal standard, but between that and the entire apple and most of a pancake that he had eaten for breakfast, Loki had ingested more food that day than he had in at least the previous three. Thor wondered what had caused this change in his brother's affinity for food, but he dared not ask. Loki's punishment had made him even more sensitive than normal as of late, and Thor did not wish to test this turn for the better by questioning it.

Despite his improved appetite, Loki still refused to leave his room. When Thor pestered him as to why, his brother simply glared at him and said that he wished to be alone. But he did not expressly order Thor away from his presence, and the ever-optimistic Thor chose to take that as a good sign.

But the next day, Loki seemed to regress. He went back to only eating a few bites of his breakfast and lunch, and he was even more taciturn than normal, refusing to even respond to Thor's questions about his welfare and pleading with him to at least speak to him. He simply curled up beneath his blankets and closed his eyes, as though waiting for Thor to leave.

And so leave Thor did, finally abandoning his endeavor with the intention of trying again later. He went to the lounge to watch television with Stark and Banner. When they were not working on planning, the two were having what Stark called "Nerd-Fest", which consisted of them watching movies that were apparently favored only by people of an academic nature. Thor did not really understand this label, because he was, for the most part, enjoying the films as well, and he most certainly was not of an academic nature-Loki had always been the family scholar. But he did not question it. He had learned quickly that when he questioned Stark or Banner about most anything (particularly when they were together), he tended to get a very long answer that he could not understand. So instead, he just watched.

Stark had selected _The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_ for that afternoon's entertainment. From what Thor gathered, it was a story about an incredibly small person who had had the misfortune to come into possession of a ring that actually belonged to an evil overlord, and he and his friends had to go on an excessively long journey to destroy the ring. Thor marveled at the bravery of Frodo. How miraculous that someone so tiny could possess such courage! That was a bit of a novel concept to Thor.

Approximately halfway through the movie, they were all quite surprised when the elevator gave a _ding_ and Loki stepped into the lounge. He was dressed in the same clothing that he had been wearing the day they had arrived at the tower, but despite his efforts he still looked uncharacteristically disheveled. His hair had been insufficiently combed-it occurred to Thor that keeping it slicked back might be a bit harder than Loki was used to without the aid of his magic-and the bags under his eyes looked more prominent than ever. But he had voluntarily left his chambers and come to join them. Thor's heart leapt at the realization.

"Brother!" He greeted him enthusiastically. "You have come to join us?"

"So it would appear," muttered Loki with stiff sarcasm. "If, of course, I am welcome." He turned to raise an inquiring eyebrow at Stark and Banner.

"Yeah, absolutely." Stark appeared to be rather surprised at Loki's sudden presence. Banner seemed a bit less so, and he gave him one of his signature, warm smiles. Without a response, Loki sat down in the armchair that he had occupied during their first night at the tower, which was, conveniently, several places away from Thor. Although this gesture still stung a bit, Thor decided to focus on how glad he was that Loki had finally left his room. He thought about trying to strike up a conversation with him, but then he remembered how angry Stark tended to get when his television programs were interrupted. Maybe it was better to sit in silence and enjoy the movie.

They continued watching and listening to the little people in the box that Stark called a television, but now that Loki was among them Thor found himself paying more attention to him than the movie. At first, Loki sat with feet up on the chair, watching the movie over his knees, which were pulled up to his chin. He seemed to find that position cozy for quite some time. But then Thor noticed his brother beginning to grow restless. He kept changing his position in the chair, as though he was having difficulty getting comfortable. He tried crossing his legs beneath him, lying sideways with his back against the armrest, and then finally just leaning back, where he remained limp, as though he had been exhausted by the search for an acceptable position. Thor's brow furrowed with concern, but he said nothing. His brother must have had a difficult night with his nightmares-it would explain the reticence, the lack of appetite, and the exhaustion. Thor did not wish to draw attention to Loki's insecurities in front of Stark and Banner.

The movie ended with the tragic death of a mighty warrior, and Thor felt his heart aching as Boromir said his goodbyes to his would-be king. Then Frodo and his loyal companion Sam got into a small boat and continued their quest to the fiery land of Mordor without the rest of their companions. When the credits began to roll, Thor was very curious to know how the rest of the story turned out. According to Stark, there were two more movies that were even longer than this one, and Thor was not a very patient person.

"Well, do Frodo and Sam destroy the ring and defeat the Dark Lord?" he inquired earnestly.

"You'll just have to wait and find out," said Stark with a wicked grin. "You won't get any spoilers outta me."

"But surely they cannot go _inside_ the volcano." Thor had been desperately trying for the entire movie to wrap his head around this concept. "It is so hot in a volcano. Would they not melt, or simply die of overexposure?"

Stark was about to come back with another tease about spoilers when, much to Thor's surprise, Loki spoke up, his voice simultaneously caustic and whinging.

"It cannot be any hotter inside that volcano that it is inside this tower. Honestly, Stark, what is _wrong_ with your house? I thought you humans were masters of indoor climatic control." Loki sagged even further into his chair and reached up to wipe a layer of sweat away from his brow.

"Huh?" Stark looked genuinely confused. "It's perfectly normal in here. Unless something's gone haywire with the computer and I haven't noticed...JARVIS, what's the current temperature in the lounge?"

**Seventy-point-five degrees Farenheit, Sir. This has been the constant temperature throughout the entire tower for the past seven days, four hours, and nine minutes.**

"Yeah, I got it. Thanks." Stark appeared to be wondering why he had designed his Artificial Intelligence system to be so specific when all it did was drive him insane.

Loki scoffed, unimpressed. "The voice in your ceiling is mistaken. Why do you think I came down here? _Certainly_ not to spend time with you and Thor! I was being frozen out of my chambers, so I sought refuge down here, only to find the heat practically unbearable! Honestly, with all of your 'modern technology', I would have thought you'd had this problem solved long ago." He glowered at Stark, who was this time ready with a comeback.

"Okay _Frosty_, first of all, you would do well to remember who is ever so nicely letting you stay in his tower and eat his food even though you ran him up a redecorating bill for several hundreds of thousands of dollars only a few days ago. And second of all, JARVIS's statistical likelihood of incorrectly reporting the temperature of anywhere in the tower is as near as makes no difference to _zero_. So grow a spine, Princess."

It seemed to Thor that Loki tried to look offended and angry, but failed in favor of just looking completely depleted of all his strength. He did not even produce a return insult-this was entirely far too abnormal for his brother, who always had to have the last word in everything. It suddenly occurred to Thor that perhaps Loki's behavior that day had not stemmed simply from his continued depression and worry over his nightmares and lack of proper caring for himself-maybe his brother was actually physically ill. Indeed, now that Thor really looked, he could see Loki's unhealthy pallor, the pink spots on his cheekbones, and the dullness and glassiness of his normally bright green eyes. Thor felt worry gnaw at his stomach. Perhaps leaving Loki alone in his chambers had not been the wisest move, after all.

Banner held up both hands as a sort of cease-fire signal, one aimed and Stark and the other at Loki. "Okay, that's enough." He sounded as though he was reprimanding two small children. He looked pointedly at Stark for a moment, and Thor saw the engineer roll his eyes, but he did not speak again. Banner then rose from his seat and crossed the room to stand in front of Loki, who looked up at him with apprehension. It was nothing akin to his abject terror of the man on the day of their arrival, but it was obvious that Loki was still not completely at ease around the the man who could turn into a monster. Banner slowly stretched out his hand, and Loki instinctively drew away.

"It's okay," said the doctor, making his voice soft and comforting. "I just want to feel if you have a fever. You don't look so good. Maybe you're coming down with something."

Loki studied him worriedly for a few moments, but then nodded almost imperceptibly. Thor was shocked. Where had this sudden trust come from? Had something occurred between his brother and Banner without his knowledge, or was Loki truly so ill as to give in without so much as the smallest of struggles?

Banner laid the back of his hand across Loki's forehead and left it there for several seconds. His brown eyes were closed and his brow furrowed-the doctor appeared to be in deep thought. Finally, without removing his hand, he made a beckoning motion with his other hand toward where Thor still sat on the couch.

"Thor, could you come here, please?"

Although he was a bit puzzled by this request, Thor obeyed. When he reached Banner's side, the doctor motioned for him to bend down. When Thor did so, Banner placed the back of his free hand across his forehead.

"I am confused," said Thor, for he was. "I am not ill. I feel fine."

"I'm comparing." He moved his touch to a different position, more over to the side of Thor's forehead before lowering both hands down to his sides. "Okay Thor, you feel normal to me. Loki feels warm. Is Loki's body temperature supposed to be lower than yours, since he is a Jotun?"

Thor noticed how Loki's eyebrows rose in surprise at Banner's usage of the proper term for his race, and he did not fail to observe the fleeting hint of gratefulness that crossed his brother's face. In the future, he would need to police himself and use that word instead of "Frost Giant". The Frost Giants were the monsters in the stories told by Asgardian parents to their children-they were the imagined horrors of Thor's and Loki's childhood. But now, Loki was one of them, and therefore a different word was necessary to refer to them. For Loki was not a monster; Loki was Thor's brother. Banner had deduced all of that with only the tiniest knowledge of the situation that he had gained from Thor's story. It was very impressive.

Before Thor could answer, Loki spoke softly. "My body is normally the same temperature as Thor's. I read in a book in the palace library that Frost Giants thermoregulate-they unconsciously adjust their normal body temperature so that they are comfortable in their surroundings. It is how I lived in Asgard all those years, and the climate there is similar to that on Midgard."

Loki still used the words "Frost Giants", and used the words "they" and "their" rather than "we" and "our" when referring to them. Well, that spoke volumes. But the thought quickly left Thor's mind as Banner began to speak again.

"Alright, but either way, you're definitely running a temperature. That would explain your pattern of discomfort. People developing fevers tend to feel cold while their bodies climb up to the specified temperature, but when they reach that temperature, they start to feel too warm. Do you feel sick anywhere else? Any aches or pains? Sore throat? Cough?"

Loki just shook his head. He'd broken out in another layer of sweat in just the couple of minutes since Thor had seen him wipe the last one away. The protective elder brother had forced himself to remain quiet so that the doctor could be allowed to examine Loki undistracted, but now, in his worry, he could keep silent no longer.

"Dr. Banner, if you have suspicions about what might be ailing my brother, I would have you tell me."

Loki summoned up the energy to shoot him a withering glare at what he apparently thought was an attempted breach of his privacy, but Banner just shrugged slightly.

"It's too early to tell. We'll just have to wait and see what other symptoms he develops, if any. It could just be a slight case of the flu, but usually patients present with respiratory signs first...you're _sure_ you don't hurt anywhere?" He turned back to Loki to ask the question. Loki gave him a somewhat exasperated look and shook his head again.

"Well if it's too early to tell, then there's hardly any use killing yourself over it yet, Clara Barton," Stark interjected. "Loki, you might feel better if you went upstairs and took a cold shower."

Loki automatically tried to shoot back an acidic retort, but then appeared to realize that Stark had actually made suggestion out of genuine kindness and had not said anything that was intended to be insulting. He looked momentarily puzzled, but then nodded.

"Yes, I believe that would be welcome. Please excuse me." He slowly got to his feet and began to make his way to the elevator, but Thor intercepted him, placing a hand on his arm. Loki had been unsteady on his feet ever since they had arrived on Midgard, undoubtedly a consequence of his self-induced undernourishment. With a fever on top of that, Thor worried that his brother might slip or even fall unconscious while in the little bathing cubicle that the mortals called a "shower". He did not want Loki to get hurt.

"I will come with you, brother."

Loki shrugged off his touch emphatically, managing to look simultaneously appalled and infuriated. "You will do no such thing. I am fully capable of bathing myself, thank you."

Thor had not meant for his words to cause offense, and he had hoped for a less spiteful response. He stepped backward, away from his brother, crestfallen.

Banner drove a wedge through the tension between the two of them by providing some doctorly instructions for Loki, telling him that when he finished showering he should drink a glass of water and then lie down and try to get some rest. Loki nodded in response and then got into the elevator. Thor just stared after him, and combination of sadness and worry roiling stormily in his heart.

"Okay, you look like an abandoned St. Bernard," Stark said finally. "I thought Steve pulled off the sad puppy look well, but you, buddy, have got him beat by miles and miles."

Thor's turning to look at him was something of a delayed reaction. He must have looked so upset that even Stark could not muster up another witty comment. Banner smiled sympathetically.

"Hey, don't worry. I'm sure he'll be fine with some rest and hydration. Just give him some time to relax-you can go check up on him in a couple of hours."

Thor studied the plush carpeting of Stark's lounge, not really finding the comfort in Banner's words that he was intended to. "I noticed that he was regressing today. He ate almost _well_ at dinner last night, but this morning he barely touched his food and acted as though he did not feel well. How did I not see this coming on? He was bound to take ill sooner or later, with the way he's been mistreating himself. And his nightmares...he's probably barely slept at all since we got here. I should have seen..."

"Hey, hey, hey, okay." Stark sounded as though he were scolding a disobedient puppy. "I think we need to review our lessons from two nights ago again. Basic points: One, this isn't your fault. Two, you can't force Loki into doing anything, because he's just going to fight you. And three...This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. Okay, review over, now time for the test. Look at me and promise me, honestly, that you'll stop beating yourself up about this."

The colloquialism momentarily confused Thor, but Stark's meaning was clear. Thor did not really agree with him-his neglect to notice how Loki had been pushed into the shadows during their childhood had contributed to Loki's mental breakdown and therefore Thor was undoubtedly deserving of at least some of his brother's hatred. But Stark's words made him realize that he could not help Loki if he was continually dwelling on his own failings as a brother. He looked up to meet Stark's chocolate-colored gaze.

"All right. I promise."

Stark squinted one eye analytically, as though he was assessing Thor's honesty. Loki, the master of lies and deception, had always said that Thor could not tell a lie if his life depended on it. Stark apparently agreed with him, for it did not take him long at all to break into a smile.

"Awesome! Now who's up for pizza?"


	7. Chapter 7

Although Loki would never admit it to him, Stark's idea had been an incredibly good one. He sighed in relief as the frigid water cascaded from the shower head to caress his sweltering body. He lathered himself with soap, washing away the sweat that had made him so uncomfortable as he sat in the lounge, and then scrubbed shampoo vigorously into his hair. When he had finished rinsing, he stayed under the water, not quite ready to turn it off. It felt so _good_. He knew it shouldn't-he had the handle of the shower turned as far to the right as he could-but it did all the same, and he didn't really feel well enough to care beyond that. Was this not more natural for him, anyway? He was a _Frost Giant_, after all. He belonged in cold places. He supposed Stark's shower did not even come close to comparing to Jotunheim, but it was a start.

Banner had used the word "Jotun". He did have to admit, he had felt a little bit of gratitude, more for the gesture than anything. But that begged the question, how did Banner even _know_ that word, and more importantly the difference in connotation between it and the alternative "Frost Giant"? Thor, without a doubt. He really had told them everything. The pig-headed fool, acting as though he cared so much about Loki and then turning right around and revealing the dark secrets of Loki's existence...but no, that wasn't really right, either. Thor was the least talented liar Loki had ever encountered, and it didn't take a master of deception to see that his love was genuine. He wasn't _trying_ to hurt Loki. He just _was_, and as usual, he was too blind to see it. Such had been the nature of their relationship since before Loki could remember.

The water went quite suddenly from feeling relaxing and comforting to feeling piercingly cold, almost unbearably so. Loki quickly turned off the tap and reached for his towel, which he wrapped around himself, shivering into it. He ought to have known better than to stay so long under the cold water when he was ill. Reluctantly unwrapping the towel from around himself, Loki rubbed his hair and body dry as hard as he could, hoping that the action would coax some warmth back into his limbs. The chill was different than the one he had experienced earlier that day, when he had first begun to take a fever. Then, he had felt as though his room was too cold and making him cold along with it, even though the source of the chill had actually been coming from inside of him. Now it seemed as though the cold was radiating from a point of origin inside his body. Or, more accurately, several points of origin. Thousands of them. Every inch of his body seemed to be cold individually, and when all those inches worked together he felt as though he were walking through Jotunheim. Or, more accurately, that Jotunheim was _inside_ of him.

He attempted an ironic chuckle at the thought, but it came out as more of a sob. He felt more miserable now than he had roasting in the lounge. He was barely able to make his trembling hands cooperate enough to dress himself in his pyjamas, and then curled up in his bed and just lay there, shivering. He remembered Banner saying that he should drink a glass of water, undoubtedly for the purpose of retaining some form of hydration during his fever, but right now he could not even think of ingesting the cool liquid. He placed the back of his hand against his forehead as Banner had done, but then he realized that he would not be able to feel any abnormalities in his own temperature. Besides, it was doubtless that his fever was rising-the shower had only been a temporary solution. No doubt he would soon feel too hot again, although right now that seemed far preferable to this.

Loki tried to sleep. He really did. He knew he needed to-he had slept little the previous night, plagued as ever by the nightmares that took Odin's punishment and twisted it so that each scenario was increasingly more bizarre and terrifying. The previous night he had awoken, sweating and shaking and sobbing, from a dream that had taken every single person from his dreams-everyone he had hurt-and pitted them against him, as he was now, weak and ill and without his magic. They had chased after him, with fire and guns and anger, and he had run until he could not run anymore. The only person who had _not_ been in the crowd was Phil Coulson, and when Loki had finally collapsed in exhaustion, the agent had stood in front of him, facing the crowd, asking them very calmly and nicely not to hurt Loki. But the crowd had had blood on their mind, and they had shoved Coulson out of the way, and the last thing Loki had seen before he had awoken had been the laser of a machine gun settled directly on his heart. Needless to say, he had not slept much for the remainder of the night.

And try as he might now, the sleep would still not come. He was much too uncomfortable to settle down enough to even hope to rest. He knew that high fevers generally made him sleepy, often so sleepy that he could not concentrate on anything for his want to fade away into the blissful darkness that beckoned him so fondly. An unbidden memory came to his mind of a younger Thor, fear and worry alight in his blue eyes but trying so hard to disguise them with loving words, stroking his hair and brow and murmuring that it would be all right if he just stayed awake. _Stay with me, brother. Eir says you mustn't sleep just yet. All will be well, Loki. Just listen to the sound of my voice._ And Loki, then just a child, had tried so hard to obey, for he had hated to see his brother so worried. But in the end he had had no choice but to give in-his weak little body, exhausted from fighting one of the worst childhood illnesses he had ever had, had not had the strength to stay awake. And now, without Thor there begging him to stay awake, he could not find the elusive sleep anywhere. All he could do was shiver.

He was not sure just how long he had been lying there, curled up almost like a cat, when Thor entered. It had probably been a couple of hours, but it had felt like days, for the chills had refused to recede even the slightest bit. As usual, Thor entered without knocking, but when he spoke, his voice was softer than normal. At least he was being the tiniest bit sensitive to Loki's condition.

"Loki? How are you feeling? Did the shower help?"

Loki did not answer for a few seconds. He wanted to order Thor away-undoubtedly he would try to smother Loki even more than before, now that he was officially ill. But the memory from his childhood pricked at him again. Thor's hand on his brow had been so comforting back then...

"Loki?" Thor was at his side now, and his voice sounded more concerned. Loki raised his head and uncurled just the tiniest bit so that he could look at Thor, and so that he wouldn't be talking into his sheets.

"The shower worked a little too well, I'm afraid," he said with a humorless laugh. "I've gone back to freezing." He shivered and pulled the blankets even tighter around himself. "I think my fever is rising again."

Thor sat down on the edge of the bed and mimicked Banner's earlier action of placing his hand on Loki's forehead. Loki watched Thor's face as he took his temperature, expecting the same worried look that he remembered peering down at him when he had been ill as a child. But to his surprise, the first expression that came to Thor's face was not worry, but confusion. He adjusted the position of his hand on Loki's forehead several times, moving it around to feel different areas as the temperature of Loki's skin reached equilibrium with that of his hand. Finally, Loki could take the suspense no more.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" His tone was biting, and rightly so. What was Thor thinking, keeping him in suspense about his own well-being?

Thor furrowed his brow. "Loki, you really are freezing."

"What are you talking about, you mindless oaf?" Loki was now also thoroughly confused, and the misery brought on by his chills was trying his patience to the very end of its rope.

Thor ignored the insult. "You are not feverish at all anymore-quite the opposite. Your skin is cold to the touch."

Loki immediately removed his hands from where he had tucked them between his torso and his blankets and examined them, turning them over, expecting to see his fingertips turning the signature blue of a Jotun. But his hands were their usual pale ivory, although they trembled even more than they had the first time he had laid them upon the Casket of Ancient Winters.

Seeing his actions, Thor took reached out and took one of Loki's slender hands in each of his rough, calloused ones and rubbed his thumbs over Loki's frigid fingers. But the gesture was too familiar coming from someone who Loki continued to tell himself was _not_ his brother, and he yanked the appendages away from Thor and returned them to their rightful place beneath the blankets. He ignored Thor's injured look and said,

"Surely you must be mistaken. _You_ have a fever, and I am of a normal temperature. That is why I feel cold to you." It was a ridiculous comeback, Loki knew-even if the chill had been brought on by his excessively cold shower, he should have warmed up, lying in his bed, a long time ago.

Thor shook his head, affection mingling with the worry in his eyes. "Loki, I feel perfectly well, and you are shivering beneath your blankets. I do not think there is a question of which one of us is ill." He reached out and passed his fingertips briefly over Loki's forehead, and despite himself, Loki leaned into the slight touch, relishing the sweet taste of warmth it brought his tortured body. He suddenly wished for Thor to continue to stroke his brow, even though mere seconds before he had scorned his touch. Loki blinked. Whatever was the matter with him, it was surely affecting his mind.

"I have never heard of an illness like this before. I must go and find Dr. Banner."

Thor made to rise and leave the room, but stopped when Loki pointed to the ceiling.

"Ah. A good idea," said Thor, catching his meaning. He looked upward and said, far too loudly,

"JARVIS, could you ask Dr. Banner to come to Loki's chambers, please?"

**Right away, sir. If I may add, in the future, it is not necessary to yell. I can hear you no matter where you are in the building when you speak in a normal tone.**

Loki could not help but smirk a little at the prospect of his brother getting told off by the Artificial Intelligence. Thor looked momentarily taken aback, but then made to speak loudly again before remembering himself and lowering his voice.

"All right. Thank you, JARVIS."

**You are welcome, sir.**

A few minutes later, Banner entered, looking simultaneously concerned and curious. Thor quickly explained the situation while Loki remained silent, trying to focus his attention on quelling his shivers. Despite how cold he felt, his cheeks burned as Thor's words to Banner met his ears. As if being stripped of his powers and forced to accept help from his enemies wasn't humiliating enough-now he was ill and even more helpless on top of it. And Thor was only making matters worse, with his excessive worrying and drawing attention to every painful aspect of Loki's condition. Loki wished he would just _go away_.

After Thor had finished relating the details to Banner, the doctor left the room and returned a few minutes later carrying a bag. By this time, all of the shivering he had been doing was beginning to take a toll on Loki's body-he was exhausted. Banner sat on the edge of the bed, and Thor acted as though he was going to get as close to Loki as possible, undoubtedly with the intention of comforting and reassuring him while the doctor examined him, but Banner ever-so-gently directed him to stand a couple of paces back from the bed.

"I know you just want to help, but we don't want him to feel crowded or overwhelmed, and it will be easier for me to work if I have some space."

Thor obeyed, although his reluctance showed on his face. Satisfied that the thunder god would not causes any immediate hindrances to his examination, Banner then turned to Loki, who still lay all curled up, nearly invisible beneath his sea of mussed blankets. The doctor located his patient's forehead and felt his temperature with his hand as before. He looked just as confused as Thor had, but although Loki was used to that expression on the face of his somewhat dim-witted brother (_he is not my brother_), it was far more worrying on Banner, who had said that he was a healer, or very nearly one.

_He is not even a proper healer. He is my enemy and he has the potential to break every bone in my body without an ounce of effort. And yet I have no choice but to trust him, because he is the only one with the slightest bit of potential to help me._ Never had Loki felt so resigned to his fate in all of his life. It had always peeved Odin to no end that Loki always had to have the final say in everything, and that fact had been an exacerbating factor in many arguments with Odin and Thor and occasionally even Frigga. And Loki was stubborn-he did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He did not just give in. He knew in the back of his mind that he should be frightened by the fact that he _was_ giving in, and without any fight at all. But he felt so miserable that he just could not bring himself to care. He just lay there and closed his eyes, welcoming the warmth of Banner's hand until it was removed.

"Okay, Loki." He opened his eyes to regard Banner hesitantly as he spoke softly to him. "I know you probably feel really cold, right?"

He lifted his head a bit so that he could nod.

"Right. And I know that you're curled up because it makes you feel warmer, but you're going to need to sit up for me so I can get a good look and figure out what's making you sick. I'm really sorry. Can you sit up?"

Sitting up required Loki to coordinate his trembling muscles. As Banner positioned some pillows against his headboard for him to lean back against, Loki followed his instructions, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position. As he lowered himself back against the pillows, Banner quickly pulled the blankets back up over him to try to keep him as warm as possible.

"Good job. Now..." He rummaged inside his bag for a moment before pulling out a small, thin instrument that tapered at one end to a blunted metal point. "I need to see exactly how much below normal your temperature is. Put this under your tongue and sit still until it beeps."

Any curiosity or reservations Loki might have had about the Midgardian contraption were squelched by the cold taking over his ability to focus and his will to think and process. He felt even colder now that he was sitting up, and he wanted to curl up again and protect what little warmth he had coming from his torso. But his practical side told him that he needed to heed Banner's words, so he remained in a sitting position, unmoving, and closed his eyes again. He thought of Eir, and how she had pulled him through many a childhood illness and calmed his frequent stomach upsets with her tonics. The palace's chief healer was as ageless as its king and queen, with a soft voice and the gentlest of touches which had always comforted Loki even as a child, small and ill and frightened. He found that he wished she were with him now. Surely she would be able to help him feel better, would she not?

The sudden beeping noise emitted by the instrument in his mouth startled him into opening his eyes. Banner removed the contraption and, putting on his reading glasses, squinted at the tiny digital screen.

"Ninety-six one. I'd be shivering, too. That's damn near mild hypothermia. How..." He trailed off, shaking his head and looking incredulous.

Thor, apparently unable to keep silent for a moment longer, broke in. "Then my brother's state is surprising to you, as well?"

Banner nodded. "I'll say. I've never heard of anything like this. There are certain illnesses that cause low body temperature-hypothyroidism, hypoglycemia, that sort of thing-but he had a fever two hours ago! This is just...it's weird. This isn't some kind of...Asgardian thing, is it?"

Thor was looking increasingly worried. "No. Or at least, not that I am aware of. Perhaps..." He paused, meeting Loki's eyes uncertainly.

"Just say it," Loki growled. He hated having attention drawn to his heritage, but it seemed as though enough damage had been done on that front over the past couple of days that it no longer mattered. Or perhaps it just felt that way because he felt too cold and too tired to care.

"Perhaps whatever is afflicting Loki is connected to the fact that he is a Jotun."

Now Thor was using that word, too. Was he really so thick as to think that dancing around the truth with correctness would somehow make everything all right? Had Loki had the energy to do so, he would have laughed sarcastically. As it was, he settled for shooting a hateful look in Thor's direction. Banner noticed this and quickly created a diversion for the very worried Thor.

"Thor, no matter what's causing this, we need to bring his body temperature up. Could you ask Tony where he keeps his extra blankets, and bring two or three of them here? They should help Loki feel more comfortable, as well."

"Of course. I will be back soon, Loki," Thor said reassuringly. Loki resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. Obviously the oaf had missed or already forgotten about the hateful look only a few seconds earlier.

When Thor had left the room, Banner fished in his bag and pulled out a clear tube with a thinly pointed end, which was covered by a transparent material made of a substance for whose name Loki had to search the recesses of his memory. _Plastic._ That was it.

"Okay, this might be something of a...unique thing, but we can't eliminate anything yet, either. Would it be all right if I took a blood sample? It's so I can test for the presence of infection, or any abnormalities in things like your liver and kidneys. It won't tell us exactly what's wrong with you, but it can tell us things that _aren't_."

"Do what you must." Loki hated how resigned he sounded. Without further conversation, Banner pulled a small box from his bag and removed a thin cloth that smell pungently of chemicals.

"Hold out your arm." Loki did so, and Banner gently manipulated it until it was straight, with the inside of the arm facing upward. He then began to rub the inside of Loki's elbow with the cloth, leaving a layer of clear liquid which quickly evaporated from his skin. Loki's instincts told him that it should have felt cold, but as it was, he barely noticed the liquid's presence.

"It's just a little rubbing alcohol, to kill the bacteria on your skin." Banner then wrapped a tourniquet around his arm. "I'm going to apologize in advance if it takes me more than one jab to find the vein. When the patient's cold, it makes it harder." He ran his fingers along Loki's arm, pressing down until he felt the roll of the vessel. "Okay, I think I've got it. You'll just feel a little prick."

Loki held back a wince as the needle slid beneath his skin. Normally it would have been easy for him to remain stoic and unaffected by something so small, but the chill had heightened his sensitivity to pain-even having Banner run his fingers along his arm tingled unpleasantly. But at least the doctor would not have to go for another "jab", as he called it-as soon as the needle pierced Loki's skin, scarlet began to pour into the syringe. Banner waited until the tube had filled before gingerly pulling out the needle and depositing the blood into several other tubes, each with a differently colored top, that were waiting on the bedside table. Then he turned back to Loki and using a piece of gauze, wiped away the bit of blood that had liberated itself from his body and pooled in the crook of his elbow. Banner gave Loki the gauze to press onto his arm until the bleeding stopped while he continued his examination.

"So, Tony Stark's got a pretty impressive collection of medical instruments-everything from diagnostics, which I'll use on this..." He motioned to the tubes of Loki's blood that sat on the nightstand. "...to IVs and a bunch of drugs. Not sure why he has any of it or how he came by it, but it might come in handy. I hope we don't have to put too much of it to use, though, for your sake."

Loki had no idea what an IV or drugs were, but they did not sound like something he wanted to learn about through first-hand experience. Banner had removed another item from his bag, a tube with a separated end, which he placed into his ears.

"And he's got a stethoscope, too. I guess no collection of medical implements would be complete without one. Okay, just lean back and breathe normally. I'm going to listen to your heart and lungs. I'm going to have to reach up under your shirt-I'm sorry about that."

Loki glared at the intrusion, and then hissed as the cold metal touched his already freezing skin. The stethoscope had the opposite effect as the alcohol had had-Loki _felt_ this, and very much so.

"I know it's cold. I'm sorry." Banner's voice was as soft and soothing as always, but he sounded as though he genuinely regretted making Loki suffer even more than he already was. But the metal soon reached Loki's body temperature and no longer felt uncomfortable. Banner timed his heartbeat and then moved the stethoscope to Loki's back, where he placed it on different locations and instructed Loki to take deep breaths. When he had finished, he removed the stethoscope from his ears and reached up to lay his hands along both sides of Loki's neck. Loki instinctively pulled away, visions of an enormous green monster trying to strangle him suddenly filling his mind. He flattened himself against the pillows behind him and tried to get as far away from the doctor as possible.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you. I just want to feel your lymph nodes. If they're bigger than normal, then you probably have some kind of infection. I'm sorry, I should have told you what I was doing."

Loki's eyes flitted back and forth, assessing the extent of the doctor's honesty before he felt his muscles relax a bit and his heart pound a little quieter. Banner reached out again, but he did not touch Loki's neck.

"May I try again?"

Loki hesitated a moment, and then swallowed and nodded slowly. Banner began to feel carefully, pressing along his neck, his brow furrowed in concentration. Despite the gentleness of the touch, Loki bit back a whimper at the assault on his sensitive nerves. Banner obviously noticed his discomfort and lowered his hands, looking confused.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little," responded Loki softly, studying the green threads of his quilt so that he would not have to meet the doctor's eye.

"That's weird. Your glands don't feel swollen at all. Do you hurt anywhere else?"

Loki wished Banner would stop asking him questions. He hated being forced out from behind the wall of reticence that he had built up since Odin's punishment. And the chill was impeding the action of his mind, and all he really wanted to do was curl up again and not talk, not interact, not even _think_. But he knew that cooperating with Banner was the most likely way to put an end to this misery, so he answered.

"Only when you touch me, or I touch something."

Banner nodded understandingly. "Okay, that's probably from being cold. No aches though-like in your muscles, or somewhere inside you?"

"No," whispered Loki, wishing more than ever for Banner to just leave him alone. The doctor meant well, and Loki was almost appreciative of that, but he had not spoken this much since before his punishment. His mind felt weary, almost as though he had just puzzled through the mechanics of a new and particularly difficult spell. Unfortunately, Thor chose that moment to return.

"I have brought you many blankets, brother! Stark has an impressive supply. He must house many guests in his tower."

"I get the feeling he probably doesn't have as many visitors as he's prepared for," said Banner as Thor unloaded his burden upon the armchair in the corner of Loki's chamber. "Thanks Thor, those should do fine."

Thor was already wrapping Loki up. Loki, balking at the close contact, wanted to tell him to take his hands off of him, but he was so weary, and the blankets were already warm from being carried next to Thor's substantial frame. _Oh_, how _good_ it felt...

"There, that helps, doesn't it?"

_The chill has definitely lessened a bit..._ "Perhaps a small amount. Nothing worth noting." Loki would not give Thor the satisfaction of knowing that he had done something to help him. Besides, it was not so far from the truth-although he admittedly did feel a little warmer, wrapped in the three blankets that Thor had lovingly tucked around him, he was still decidedly uncomfortable.

Banner returned all of his medical implements to his bag. "Okay, I'm going to start running those blood tests. Hopefully it's just a bug and it'll go away soon, but the tests will tell us more. Keep the blankets on as long as you feel comfortable. Take them off if you start to feel your temperature rise again, though. The worst thing you can do for a fever is wrap up in blankets."

Loki nodded to show that he understood and then immediately curled up as best he could-the bulky wrappings restricted his movement. Once Banner had exited the room, Thor came to sit beside him and ran his fingers along the surface of Loki's mussed black hair.

"Would you like me to stay?" He asked softly. Asked. Not begged or asserted or stated. This was an improvement, indeed, so much so that Loki was almost tempted to say "yes". But why should this self-important entity who was not his brother and who had overshadowed him for so long sit at his sickbed? _Not my sickbed. I am not that ill. It is undoubtedly only a simple thing that will go away quickly, like my stomach upsets. I will feel better in the morning._

"No. I am tired and I wish to be left to sleep in peace." He tried only to sound matter-of-fact, but the statement came out as unpleasant and bitter. Thor's facial expression made obvious his lamenting of this, but he did not push the matter. Instead, he simply laid a hand gently on Loki's cheek and said, softly, sadly,

"All right. I wish you a swift recovery, my love."

Loki watched him go from where his head rested facing the side of the bed. Thor had not called him "my love" in a long time. Though he was aware that Midgardians generally only used the phrase for their romantic lovers and spouses, on Asgard it was a term of endearment for the any of the closest of hearts. Loki had always loved it when Thor called him that when they were children, although he saved the words for the proper times-times when Loki was upset or ill and needed comfort, mostly, but also those rare times when Thor was being thoughtful or reflective.

The night before Thor's attempted coronation stood out in his mind. Loki had already done his deed, although he had called in the Jotuns-_the Frost Giants_-specifically for the purpose of ensuring that an unfit king would not ascend the throne, not that _Thor_ would not ascend the throne. He was envious of his brother's station, yes, but it was not said envy that had driven him to the deed. He had not wanted to hurt Thor-not then, not yet. But all the same, he knew that what he'd done _would_ hurt his brother, and he had felt bad about it. He had sought Thor out, not because he'd had any sudden change of heart and felt the need to confess, but because he'd instinctively known that his brother was in need of his presence, and he thought that providing some sort of comfort then would make up for the chaos that would ensue the following day.

Indeed, he had found Thor sitting in the palace garden, more quiet and still than he had ever seen him. Loki, who was prone to reflection and brooding, often spent time in the garden, finding comfort amongst the flowers and trees who did not speak with voices, only with movements. Thor neither reflected nor brooded, and was much more likely to be found in the training ring than the garden on any given day. And yet somehow, Loki had known exactly where to find him that night. He had sat next to his brother on the bench and, in a moment of weakness, fed him every lie he possibly could to make Thor feel better about himself and the upcoming event. He had meant to put a stop to the deception after communicating with Laufey, but he had never seen his brother so nervous before. Thor being nervous wasn't right-it was not right at all. Thor was always the one to speak comforting words to Loki. Thor was courageous and brash and brave, and seeing him so subdued had rendered Loki's plan completely null. And when he was done telling his brother that everything was going to be all right and he would be a wise king and he wouldn't trip over his own feet and fall on his face during the coronation, Thor had taken him into his arms and whispered,

"Thank you, my love. I could not do this without you."

Loki really had felt awful then. The comment, which had been designed to make him feel warm and loved, had made the entire situation all the worse. Thor was relying on him to get through this very important part of his life, and Loki was deceiving him. It was not until he had realized the true reason Thor was receiving all the laudation and he had never had any that he completely ceased to regret his actions. But as terrible as it had made him feel, in the moment that Thor had expressed his love to his brother, Loki had known that he was at least _needed_ by someone, and that was better than being pushed into the background.

Another shiver shook him and he blinked back into the present, curling up even more tightly. He had not thought about his friendship with Thor in a long time-nor had he thought of Thor as his brother. _We were brothers back then, after all-or at least, we thought we were,_ Loki thought, trying to rationalize it to himself. _But of course, my mind is not at its most functional tonight. A slip-up can be forgiven. Thor is not my brother. He spent our entire lives dimming my light with his own blinding, golden, atrocious sunbeams. He doesn't need me, and I certainly do not need him._

But as Loki shivered and pressed himself into his cocoon of blankets, he could not help but remember how wonderfully warm Thor's hand had felt against his forehead.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for your continued reading and reviewing, guys! Okay, so here's the deal: I'm going on another trip next week (the second of three this summer-my family travels A LOT, lol!). We are leaving Monday at about noon. I will probably have limited internet access on Tuesday, so I will post Chapter 9 on Monday morning. We are staying at a _very_ fancy hotel (yay, excitement!), so I should be able to find internet somewhere to post the second chapter of the week! I'm not sure what my schedule will be, so keep checking. It will probably be either Thursday or Friday. Thanks for your continued patience and feedback-I really appreciate it! I love the conversations I've been having with some of my readers. You guys are awesome. :)**

Tony found Bruce in the medical diagnostics lab late the next morning. The doctor was sitting in a chair pulled up to the blood analyzer, staring at a printout. One elbow was propped on the table, and Bruce was resting his head in his hand, his fingers run halfway through his ruffled hair.

"So this is where you've been all morning," Tony opened, pretending that he hadn't known all along. He nodded to the paper in front of his friend. "Is that what I think it is?"

Bruce nodded his head against his hand and sighed tiredly. "Yeah. I don't get it."

"What do you mean? You _almost_ made it through medical school-not that you couldn't have made it if you'd chosen to. And the machine _gives_ you the normal ranges for the values. Can't you just see which numbers are outliers?" Medicine wasn't too high on Tony's list of interests, but with his own rather specific health problem, he knew how to use his blood analyzer.

"That's not the problem," said Bruce wearily. "Everything's completely normal."

"Huh? Even though he's a snowman?" Tony had at least expected some value differences resulting from the fact that Loki wasn't human, but Bruce shook his head.

"Don't let Thor hear you calling him that. And I thought for sure there would be at least _some_ differences, but everything is practically exactly in the middle of normal range. Apparently Jotun biology isn't very different at all from human biology."

"So you can't find _anything_ wrong?"

"He has slight anemia and vitamin deficiencies. But I mean _slight_, and it's probably from not eating properly. Other than that, everything is so normal it's almost scary. ALT, kidneys, platelet count, glucose, thyroid. And the most infuriating part is there isn't even the smallest elevation in white blood cell count."

"So no infection? Then what was with all the griping about the temperature yesterday?"

"What I don't understand is the drastic drop in body temperature. That's not good for him, and it's _not_ normal." Bruce shook his head. "I've never seen anything like this before, Tony. It's really weird. And I'm not really sure where to go next."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Who says you have to go anywhere?"

Bruce looked genuinely offended. "Look, I know he's done some bad things and our original decision to let him stay didn't involve medical care, but I can't let him suffer. You should have seen him yesterday, Tony-he was shaking like a leaf. And he _let_ me do stuff to him without putting up any kind of fight. It's obvious he's not feeling well at all."

Tony raised both hands, palms facing outward. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up. That's _not_ what I meant. I was just saying that maybe you won't _have_ to do anything else for diagnostics. After Thor brought Loki his breakfast this morning, he said that his temperature felt normal. Maybe whatever was making him sick has already worked itself out."

"Oh. I...sorry."

"No, it's okay. Hey, you're pretty into this doctor stuff, aren't you? Like, doctor-doctor stuff. How come you didn't stay in medical school?"

Bruce chuckled dryly. "I've always been pretty nerdy and quiet. It's not that I can't handle stress-I just couldn't take it radiating off of other people. Medical students are so _intense_. And I discovered I really loved nuclear physics. There was a professor who took an interest in me, and it all kind of changed direction from there."

Tony nodded, listening. "It takes guts to completely switch courses like that so late in your education. Guts and a lot of conviction."

"And the funny part is, after everything that happened in my career as a nuclear physicist, I somehow ended up practicing medicine anyway-unofficially, of course." Bruce gave a small snort at the irony.

"Somehow I doubt the people whose lives you saved in Calcutta care whether you're an official medical practitioner or not," replied Tony warmly. His tone held no hint of a tease, a rarity for him, and he was rewarded with a small smile from Bruce. Neither spoke for several seconds. Bruce fidgeted and Tony regarded him curiously, wondering what was going on in that wrinkly brain of his. Finally, the doctor spoke.

"Look Tony, I owe you some thanks. Not just for letting me stay in the tower, either." He paused, apparently thinking about exactly how to word what he wanted to say. Socially Awkward Bruce was almost as amusing as Deeply Thinking Bruce. "You're the first person who hasn't found it necessary to skirt around the elephant that follows me into every room I walk into. At first it made me uncomfortable, but now I've come to realize that it's helped me come to terms with the Other Guy always being there. It was you who showed me I could control him. Now he's less of something to run from and more just a part of me that I have to learn to deal with."

It was all Tony could do not to beam and grin as widely as he could, but he managed to keep his reaction to a small smile.

"I'm flattered, truly. I don't honestly say that to many people. Like, at all. So consider yourself privileged. Anyway, you just seemed like the kinda guy who was just waiting for something in his world to break open-tiptoeing when you needed to strut, like I said. You were on the edge of strutting. I knew that when it all came to a head, you wouldn't just be sitting back and watching it from the sidelines. Because that was _your_ moment. And you're strutting now."

Now it was Bruce's turn to smile, in a sort of truly grateful manner that made Tony feel simultaneously happy for his friend and incredibly proud of himself. Bruce spoke again.

"So, we've been doing all this talking about me. Can we talk about you now?" He sounded slightly cautious, but at the same time, determined. Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, sure. I love talking about me. Me is my favorite subject. Let's talk about me."

"All of this, everything you do-the Iron Man suit, the clean energy, quitting the weapons industry-it was all because of one event in your life. I know what happened, or at least what the news stories said. And I can pretty much guess why you never talk about it, because it's the same reason why I don't like talking about my accident. You don't like thinking about it, and I get that. But it's something you have to live with every day, just like I have to live with the Hulk. But they-the Hulk and what happened to you in Afghanistan-they're a part of us. They make us who we are. You showed me that, and so I thought I'd show you back. Sorry if I'm being a little forward. I guess I just...if you ever want to...you know...talk about it..." Bruce trailed off, his burst of eloquence reverting back to his normal awkwardness.

That was _not_ what Tony had expected. He should have guessed, but he hadn't thought Bruce was into feelings talk. It was one of the things that made him seem so approachable to Tony, who loved to talk but only about things that didn't matter. Now his safety net was gone-here was Bruce, bringing up _that_. He was totally not prepared to deal with this.

Bruce obviously noticed the discomfort on his face. "Look, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I just wanted to put it out there. I don't want things to be weird between us. You can just forget I said it if you want." He wrung his hands worriedly, obviously fearing he had sullied the best friendship he'd had in a long time.

"No...no, we don't have to be weird. We're not weird." Tony shook his head, not really sure where to go next. He didn't want to tell Bruce outright that he had absolutely no desire whatsoever to discuss his being blown up and captured and tortured by terrorists being manipulated by his own mentor with him. Even he wasn't _that_ tactless.

Luckily for Tony, JARVIS's monotonic voice suddenly became audible.

**Dr. Banner, your presence has been requested in Mr. Loki's room by Mr. Thor.**

Bruce sighed. "This can't be good."

"What's up with them, JARVIS?" asked Tony.

**Mr. Thor has indicated that Mr. Loki is running a fever and needs medical attention. Mr. Loki insists that he needs no such thing. They are currently arguing about this matter.**

"Well, he can't be just too sick, if he's arguing with Thor," said Tony, rolling his eyes.

"All the same, I'd really hoped this had blown over." Bruce sighed frustratedly. "Well, I guess I'd better grab the thermometer."

**Dr. Banner, may I make a suggestion?**

"Sure, JARVIS."

Tony grinned. Obviously Bruce had figured out just how helpful the AI could be. Tony often relied on it to help work out complex engineering or critical thinking problems-the computer helped him organize his thoughts. It was ironic, because Tony had at one point needed to organize his thoughts to invent JARVIS. Which means that he had engineered the AI to be helpful to himself. Yeah. Not paradoxical at all.

**Sir, if it is possible that Mr. Loki will be ill for an extended period of time, perhaps it would be wise to install a temperature sensor. I will be able to monitor his temperature at all times and alert you of any concerns.**

Bruce's eyebrows went up. "Hey, that's actually a really good idea. Tony, could you...hook me up?"

"Sure thing! I'll get it ready-won't take me long. You'd better go take care of Frosty before he melts."

"Tony..."

"Yeah?"

"Never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing, just don't come crying to me when you're sporting a Mjolnir-shaped indentation in your head."

Tony just grinned.

_~~~The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~_

Given what JARVIS had said, when Bruce entered Loki's room he had expected to walk straight into a firefight between the two brothers. Apparently sibling rivalries were even more intense when the parties involved were gods (case in point: the battle a few days prior). But he opened the bedroom door to silence. Loki sat, uncovered, atop his blankets, dressed in his pajamas and resting with his back against a wall of Stark's fine silk pillows. There were the same spots of pink on his cheekbones as there had been the previous day, but the effect was more enhanced this time. The remainder of his face was even paler than normal, and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. It was quite a contrast from how Bruce had last seen him, shivering beneath layers and layers of blankets, desperate for even a breath of warmth.

Thor stood beside his brother's bed, looking painfully awkward-more awkward than Bruce generally felt, which was quite a feat, especially for someone as charismatic as the god of thunder. Thor was looking at Loki as though he desperately wanted to reach out to his brother-more than likely to hold him, Bruce expected, as Thor seemed like the physical contact type of comforter-but he did not move toward the figure on the bed, obviously not wishing to upset the volatile Loki. When he heard Bruce enter, he turned to regard him with worry etched on his face. Bruce wondered if Thor worried enough, his face would stay that way. It would be a pity, although he suspected that as an immortal, Thor's face was probably more resistant to the general wear and tear of emotions than, say, his own.

"Hey," said Bruce, not really knowing what else to say. "You two are awfully quiet. JARVIS said you guys were...having it out." He winced slightly as he listened to his own words. Maybe he should think twice before bringing up the tension between these two in front of them.

"My brother is very unwell. We did have a brief quarrel, but he tired too quickly to sustain it. He is not himself at all." Thor's tone was grave.

"I merely grew weary of listening to you, you insufferable oaf," spat Loki.

"I don't know, I think he sounds like himself to me," said Bruce with a small shrug. Thor shot him a warning glance, but Bruce ignored him. What could even the mighty god of thunder possibly do to _him_? He went to stand next to Thor beside the bed and held up the thermometer. Loki took it from him with a resigned sigh and placed the instrument beneath his tongue, by now familiar with the process. Bruce laid the back of his hand against the sweaty forehead and frowned. Scratch what he'd said before, Thor _did_ have a reason to worry-Loki felt decidedly warmer than he had the previous day in the lounge. But when he said this aloud, he did not miss the scathing look Loki gave Thor when the latter expressed his concern.

"He is getting worse, then?"

"Let's not jump to any conclusions here. It could just be whatever this is running its course." Bruce almost said something like "bug" or "infection", but then he remembered the disappointing blood test results and stopped himself. But Thor, his worry for his brother obviously making him more observant than normal, did not miss the uncertainty in his voice.

"What is it that you are not saying, Dr. Banner?" His voice held no threat, but it was stern. Bruce sighed. It was not right for him to keep this information from his patient, or from Thor, who obviously cared very much for his brother.

"I finished running the blood tests. Other than some very slight lowering of his iron and vitamin values, which are more than likely from not eating properly, there is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about his test results."

"What does that mean?" Thor's eyes searched Bruce's face desperately. Bruce was saved from having to answer immediately by the beeping of the thermometer, which Loki silently removed from his mouth and handed to Bruce.

"One-oh-one point six. That's three degrees above normal. I didn't get a reading when you were running a fever yesterday, but I'd say that's definitely higher. Do you feel worse than than you did then?"

Loki nodded, closing his eyes and sinking further into his pillows.

"Okay buddy, you've gotta talk to me here. Tell me what's going on that doesn't feel right."

Loki sighed, sounding slightly annoyed, and slid one eye open irritably. "I am terribly sleepy, and I am fairly convinced that I am melting. And there is a large, infuriating _oaf_ in my bedchamber who refuses to leave me alone. Other than that, I am perfectly well, thank you." He closed his eye once more. Bruce noted how much more sarcastic and caustic Loki was being than he had the previous day, although he could not really have been feeling much better now than he had then-his temperature was even further away from normal, though in the opposite direction. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe Loki's acidic manner and insults toward Thor were actually his obtuse way of shielding his brother from the reality of his condition. Bruce recalled his conversation with Loki when he had brought him breakfast that first morning, and how Loki had not denied that he did not hate his brother after all. How he had said that he did not wish to burden Thor with his pain. Although it was clear just how much Loki disliked his brother's presence, maybe his sarcasm was also designed to show Thor that he still had some fight left in him.

As he usually did, Thor ignored Loki's jab at him. "Dr. Banner, you had not finished explaining the results of Loki's blood tests."

_Damn._ He had known that would come back up. "Yeah. Umm...as far as they're concerned, there's absolutely nothing wrong with Loki. There's no source of infection, either bacterial or viral, that's causing his fever. And I have no explanation for him running cold yesterday, either."

"So you are no closer to discovering the source of his illness?" Thor clarified, his worry obviously growing. Loki remained silent, but his brow was furrowed with worry. When Thor turned to look at him, however, Loki's facial expression immediately became one of annoyance.

"As of now, no," replied Bruce honestly. "But I'm not going to stop trying, not by any means. I'll get another blood sample and rerun the tests, just to make sure it wasn't a fluke. Tony's also preparing a device that will allow JARVIS to constantly monitor Loki's temperature. It's possible the fluctuation patterns will tell us more."

Thor nodded, his silence a rarity. It was obvious he had understood very little of what Bruce had just said, but this was not a new sensation for Bruce. _Nor was it for Thor, probably,_ he thought, chuckling dryly in his mind. But his humor was quickly dulled when he caught Thor's pained glance in Loki's direction. It was obvious the thunder god was worried sick about his little brother, and Loki was no doubt making it all the worse by continually pushing him away.

"What can I do in the meantime, to make him more comfortable?" Thor inquired, redirecting his gaze toward Bruce.

Before Bruce could respond, Loki growled, "You can leave."

Thor appeared to shatter before Bruce's eyes, unable to take the rejection any longer. "Loki, you are my brother and you are unwell. It is my _duty_ to look after you."

Loki's eyes widened, and Bruce winced, bracing himself for what was coming. Thor was even worse than Tony when it came to thinking before he spoke.

"Your _duty_? Is that what this is all about? You feel the need to spend all of your time with me because it is your _duty_? Of course! That's what it has always been about for you, hasn't it? The perfect, golden prince, so loyal to his king and his realm. Everything else falls by the wayside in the face of _duty_. Do you know what duty is? It is something _required_ of you, not something you _want_ to do. An obligation."

"Loki, I..." Thor began desperately, but Loki was not finished.

"But how foolish of me to _ever_ think I was anything more to you than that. A burden, to the king and queen, to you. A puny little Frost Giant who no one wanted. Cast out, rescued only because of _pity_!"

"Loki, you are feverish, you mustn't upset yourself so..." Thor, ever determined, reached out to try to take his brother's hand, but Loki pushed him away with surprising force.

"How _dare_ you? How dare you put on the facade of caring? You act as though my welfare means something to you, but you _lie_!"

"Loki, I would _never_ lie to you, you _know_ that..."

"GET OUT!" Loki screamed, and Bruce even took an instinctive step backward at the volume and force of hatred in his voice. "Leave my chambers! I _never _want to see your face again!"

For a moment, the two gods just looked at each other. Loki's chest heaved with the exertion of his diatribe, and Thor's with emotion as his tears finally took over. Bruce expected him to try once more to reach out to Loki, but it appeared that the mighty god of thunder had finally been doled out more than he could take. Thor turned and fled the room without even shutting the door behind him.

Bruce remained where he stood up against the wall for several long moments. Though he tried not to stare, he could see the silent tears rolling down Loki's face, his feelings of betrayal evident. Finally, Loki closed his eyes, leaned back against the pillows, and said, his voice perfectly steady and calm,

"I believe you planned to extract more of my blood for testing, did you not, Dr. Banner?"

"Um, yeah." A bit startled by Loki's sudden change in demeanor, the flustered Bruce dug around in his bag for the proper tubes, syringe, needle, and tourniquet. Loki did not so much as flinch when the needle entered his skin this time, and his eyes remained closed throughout the entire procedure. Bruce was not sure if this was because Loki now trusted him with his welfare, or he simply felt too ill to pay him any mind. It was probably neither, he thought. It was probably because Loki's emotions were at the moment even more tumultuous than his temperature, and he did not want Bruce to see the havoc they were wreaking. Studying his patient's face, Bruce could see that fresh tears occasionally leaked from below his eyelids.

After he had squirted the blood into the tubes, Bruce brought a glass of water from the bathroom and placed it on the nightstand, along with two Tylenol.

"Hey," he said softly. Loki opened his eyes to regard him dully. "I want to go ahead and get these tests up and running. Will you be okay here by yourself?"

Loki chuckled ironically. "I have been functioning perfectly well on my own for centuries, Dr. Banner. A slight fever will not change that." His tone was bitter, but it held a bit of uncertainty. Bruce, though, knew better than to push the matter.

"Okay. You should take this Tylenol." Loki regarded him with confusion. "Have you ever swallowed pills before?" A head shake. "Okay, just put them on top of your tongue, take a sip of water, and then swallow the water and the pills together. They should help bring down your fever a little. You need to drink the entire glass of water-it'll help the pills go down properly, and you need to stay hydrated. It also might not be a bad idea to take another shower-cool, maybe not ice-cold. Okay?"

Loki nodded and swallowed the pills without difficulty. Then he settled back against his pillows and closed his eyes again. "I will try to stand beneath the water a little later. I am very tired at the moment."

"Okay, you can rest now. I'll be back when Tony has the temperature sensor ready."

Loki did not respond, so Bruce let him be. He was glad to do so, he had to admit. Every second he stayed in that room, things seemed to get more and more awkward. He honestly wasn't sure who he felt worse for at the moment-Loki or Thor. Granted, Thor hadn't used his very best judgment when he had spoken, but surely Loki was used to that? Bungling his words seemed to be a common occurrence for the god of thunder, which was one of the many things that made him contrast so fiercely with his silver-tongued brother. But sometimes poorly thought-out statements could make a graver impact than other times, and this was certainly one of _those_ times. Bruce did not think for a second that Thor had meant by his words what Loki had interpreted. It was incredibly clear that Thor stayed by his brother's side despite being pushed away continually (and with increasing vehemence) out of love far more than out of any sense of obligation. One look into those clear blue eyes would tell anyone that Thor's pale, scrawny, grouchy, hurtful little brother was the most important thing in his life.

But it wasn't like this was an easy time for Loki, either, between his illness and his punishment, not to mention everything that had led up to it-specifically the revelation of his heritage. Bruce knew that it was possible that Loki's outburst had at least partially been him taking advantage of Thor's unfortunate word choice to finally push his brother away for good in order to protect Thor from the quicksand of Loki's nightmares and helplessness. But at the same time, Bruce could tell that Loki had been genuinely hurt by his brother's words. They had called back painful memories of his past, of being pushed into the shadows in the way Thor had described during their first night in the tower.

"_A burden, to the king and queen, to you. A puny little Frost Giant who no one wanted." _Bruce winced, recalling Loki's shaking voice and embittered words. He could relate. After all, no one _wanted_ in their town a man who could, in the time it took to snap one's fingers, become a twenty-foot tall beast who did nothing but destroy. Bruce had spent so many years running, fearing for his life, unwilling to spend the rest of his days locked up in a cage in some research facility. No, he would rather die than be locked up. One terrible night he had tried to act on that choice. The voices in his head had taunted him as he had aimed that pistol, biting down on the barrel so that it remained in his mouth despite his shaking hands. Amidst the hardness of the gun between his teeth and the metallic taste mingling with his saliva, the voice had chanted one word, over and over: _monster._

He leaned against the wall of the hallway, his eyes shut. For a moment, he was back there, shaking with nauseous anticipation and yet ready for the deed to be over. It was a moment he had relived every day since then...except for the past few days. Somehow, being here had distracted him, made him forget. He supposed it was Tony, for the most part-he had meant every word of his heartfelt thanks to the billionaire earlier. He did not doubt that Stark had had a reason for focusing their conversation on Bruce's work as a quasi-physician. He was showing him that he was _someone_, not just _something_. A person who did good things, not just the monster waiting to be let out of its cage. The beast was a part of him, and not the other way around.

He wasn't sure exactly what lay beneath Loki's bitterness and brokenness and hatred, but there was a part of him that said it was similar to what lay beneath his own shell of awkwardness and quiet efficiency. A unique brand of humanity that took a special push to really shine through. He kind of hoped he would get to see exactly what that entailed for Loki.


	9. Chapter 9

**Feels, feels, all the Thor and Loki feels (and a few from Tony as well)...that's pretty much a summary of this chapter, in case you were wondering. ;) Bear with the timing of my next update-as I said before, I'm leaving for a trip today. Barring total lack of internet access, I will get it up relatively on time, but it might be a day early or something like that. Anyway, regular service will resume on Tuesday of next week. Thanks for your patience, reads, and reviews! :)  
**

Thor stumbled blindly down the hall, still unable to comprehend the events that had just occurred. What had he _done_? He had failed his brother when he needed him most. Loki was weak, both in body and in heart-he needed his elder brother now more than ever, and what had Thor done? He had made him feel even less loved than he already had. Poor Loki-he must feel so alone, suffering from his nightmares. Thor did not understand why he would not allow him to comfort him, why he would deny himself that small balm amidst his despair. Was he attempting to punish himself further? Or did he truly believe he had no hope?

Either way, it did not matter now. Thor had really and truly hurt Loki this time. He had not meant his words as Loki had heard them-not at all! He had only ever felt love toward his brother-for a brother Loki would always, _always_ be to him, no matter what Loki thought. The "duty" he had been referring to was the duty of that love-an act which came out of his affection and innate need to care for Loki. He had never felt obligated to do anything for his brother. He had always looked after Loki because he wanted to, because he liked knowing that his little brother was safe and had someone to look to. Because Loki meant more to him than life itself...why, _why_ had he said that horrible thing?

Thor slid his back down the wall until his was sitting on the floor of the hallway. He buried his head in his trembling hands and allowed his tears to overwhelm him. Although it was widely known that the god of thunder wore his heart on his sleeve, it was very rarely that he really and truly wept. Normally his method of dealing with awful situations was his anger, to release his pain in a lightning storm, to roar and yell to the skies and make the thunder crash so loudly that it sounded as though someone had thrown a thousand drums upon the floor. But now all he could do was cry like a little child, as he had not since his brother had fallen from the Bifrost and Thor thought him lost forever.

But this was not really so different. As many times as Loki had attempted to push him away before, none of them had compared with this. Loki had not just been annoyed or in a foul mood or even reeling from his nightmares; he had been truly furious, burning with an anger even hotter than his fever. And he had every right to be angry. He had every right not to wish to see Thor ever again. And Thor deserved it. He knew that he had promised Stark he would stop blaming himself over Loki's unhappiness, but this went too far for him not to go back on that promise. Thor had to be the worst elder brother in the Nine Realms.

"Loki, I'm sorry," he whimpered, even though he knew that his brother could not hear him. "I did not mean it, please forgive me...please..."

"Hey, Point Break, what's got you so down?"

Stark. Not exactly the person he wanted to see the most right now. Thor did not think he could take the presumptuous mortal's sarcasm or jokes at the present moment. But it wasn't as though he had the ability to do anything about his presence just then. Thor did not even respond. He just stayed there on the floor, his face hidden in his hands.

"What, you're not talking either now? Look buddy, you can tell me. It's okay." Thor heard the source of the voice lowering more toward his own level, and he did not need to look up to know that Stark had sat down on the floor in front of him.

Knowing that Stark would not leave until he spoke, Thor took several shuddering breaths in an attempt to regain enough of his composure to be understood. Finally, he managed to choke out,

"It is all my fault...I said such terrible things to him..."

"To Rudolph...I mean Loki?" Stark interrupted, looking thoroughly confused. Thor nodded.

"But I did not mean it! I wish to help him only...only because I love him. But now...he never wants to see me again!" He burst into a fresh fit of tears, and he felt Tony lay a sympathetic hand on his arm.

"Hey, it can't be as bad as all that."

"Yes, it _can_!" bellowed Thor, his head shooting up so that he was looking Stark directly in the face. "You did not hear him. He was utterly, completely betrayed! I did not even realize he still possessed enough trust in me to _feel_ betrayed..." He broke off, unable to go onward. But then he felt Stark's hands, probably the roughest ever possessed by a billionaire, grasping both of his forearms and pulling until Thor fixed his gaze upon the genius again.

"Look, Big Guy. Loki's got a lot going on right now. He's not feeling well, he's having those nightmares, his magic's been taken away...it's no wonder he's tightly wound. I know its hard to do when you want to be in there taking care of him, but just give him some time and some space to get himself back together. He'll come around. Eventually."

Thor wondered briefly how much it must have cost Stark to get through that entire speech without making a joke or insulting someone. _Probably much,_ he thought with a sharp inner laugh that left an equally bitter taste in his mouth. His misery was making him as sarcastic as Loki, and Thor hated that. He _was_ grateful for Stark's attempt at comforting him, but the words did not have the desired effect.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head. "Not this time. I was the one person he had left, who really believed in him, and now I've ruined that. I've hurt him too badly to ever make this right. I reaffirmed all of the horrible things he thought were true. I wanted so much for him to stop pushing me away, but now I have provided him with the strength for the hardest push of all." He drew a shaky breath, ran the back of his hand over his eyes, and got unsteadily to his feet. "Thank you for your kindness, Stark. Your efforts to reach out and be a friend have not gone unnoticed, even by my tear-blinded eyes. But as well-meaning as your words are, I am afraid I can find no truth in them."

Without allowing Stark time to say anything else, Thor trudged down the hallway toward his own bedroom, head hanging and shoulders slumped. When he reached his bed, he lay down facing the wall and closed his eyes. He employed the technique he always used to boost his spirits when Loki ignored or fought against his acts of love-he tried to recall the happy times they had spent together as children. Riding through the forests of Asgard, Thor being the unwitting victim of one of Loki's pranks (which ended first in embarrassment and then in laughter at seeing his brother's mirth), curling up together after one of Loki's childhood nightmares during a time when his brother not only accepted his motions of comfort, but sought them out.

It normally worked. Recalling these instances usually gave Thor hope with the knowledge that _that_ Loki, the one he'd loved all of his life, was still there somewhere, and would emerge in time. But this time, the memories seemed empty and false and after hours of trying, Thor ended up falling asleep, tears still leaking from his eyes.

_~~~The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~_

After Banner left his chambers, Loki had, despite both his physical discomfort and the emotions that rolled about inside of him, drifted off into an exhausted sleep. But proper rest was not to be found, for the presence of his fever seemed to add an extra dimension of bizarreness and terror to his nightmares.

It was one of the rarer nightmares in which he was actually himself rather than one of his victims. At first, he was facing the little daughter of the young, unmarried mother-a child now orphaned and without anyone to love her. Loki looked at her and felt the deepest pain and regret. He thought the agony might unfold him from the inside out, exposing blood and flesh and anguish. He reached out to the little girl to take her hand, to try to offer her some comfort, but when he did, she began to change form. She grew taller and wider, became colossal, and her skin began to bubble disgustingly until it took on a distinctive purple hue. Loki felt nauseous, for he realized who he was looking at far before the features became obvious. _Thanos._ And suddenly there he was, leering down at Loki, and they were surrounded by millions and millions of Chitauri, all with their weapons pointed at him. Cackling, Thanos picked Loki up by his collar and held him over an enormous cauldron full of a bubbling, foul-smelling black liquid. _Pitch,_ his mind told him. _Burning pitch._ His heart and stomach turned over in fear, and he screamed and struggled as the heat grew more intense, so much so that he thought it would melt the flesh right off of his bones. But the Mad Titan laughed and swung him around, bringing his head closer and closer to the molten pitch until he finally let go and Loki was falling, falling...

He woke with the taste of bile in his throat, but he could not even reach for the glass of water Banner had left on his bedside table for his inability to control his shaking limbs. After nearly five minutes, he managed to grasp the glass, slick with condensation, in both hands and maneuver it to his lips. When he had drank, he pressed the cool cup to his forehead and allowed himself a small sigh. It felt _wonderful_. Who might have known that such a small thing, which would normally have been of no consequence, could bring him such blessed relief? But soon the cup reached equilibrium with his too-warm body, and its small balm was erased. He was left lying on the bed, sweaty and limp as a drowned kitten, feeling as though an entire sun burned inside of him.

It had been well into the previous night when he had finally felt warm enough to unwrap himself from his plethora of blankets, and he had at last managed to sleep for a few hours before his nightmares woke him again. But he had at least been physically comfortable until a couple of hours before Thor-_no, don't even think his name_-had come to check on him. Then he had begun to feel the chills creeping up on him again, and he had pulled the blankets back around himself to try to quell the shivers. But suddenly he had become far too warm-it had been as though he could not strip the covers away fast enough. If only it had been enough! All that he wore now were the strange, light Midgardian nightclothes that Stark had given him, and he still felt as though someone had locked him inside an oven. Surely if he sweated much more, he would shrivel up like a prune. What a horribly undignified way to die.

His brooding upon his own discomfort was interrupted by the unannounced entrance of Tony Stark. Loki would normally have regarded this inconsiderate action with profound annoyance and made it perfectly clear, possibly by way of strangulation or some other bodily harm, to this pretentious, infuriating, tiny little mortal just how much he detested people entering his room without so much as knocking. But he just could not find the energy anywhere within his body to produce so much as a seething remark.

_By the Norns, what in the Nine Realms ails me?_

"Whoa, Frosty. You like an ice cream cone that's been left out in the sun too long."

Loki raged internally. He was _not_ in the mood for Stark's particular brand of wit. Actually, he was never in the mood, but at this moment, he was even less so. He sighed, hoping that by not reacting to the taunts, he might get to the point of this unwelcome visit and then be left to wallow alone in his misery all the sooner.

"What do you wish of me, Stark?"

"Aha. Ask not what you can do for your genius-billionaire-technological wonder-superhero, but what your genius-billionaire-technological wonder-superhero can do for _you_." Stark held proudly held out his palm to reveal a circular contraption that appeared to be made out of thin plastic, its diameter about half the length of Loki's smallest finger.

"I take it this is the device that Dr. Banner spoke of to monitor my body temperature?"

"Yep. It sticks on the inside of your arm, almost like a Band-Aid. Except I'll bet you've never used a Band-Aid. Never mind. It's not painful or even uncomfortable, and JARVIS will allow us to keep an eye on the ole' homeostasis twenty-four/seven. No annoying wires to get tangled up in, either. We only have the highest-tech tech here in Stark Tower," Stark said, his voice taking on a jesting air of hubris.

"Just do what you must with me and then let me rest," sighed Loki resignedly. "Please," he added, not wanting to set Stark off on another rant about being grateful for having a roof over his head.

"'Kay," said Stark simply. "Arm, please." Loki held out the indicated limb, and Stark pressed one side of the flattened device to the fleshy part on the underside of his upper arm. When he let go, the monitor remained attached to Loki.

"Okay, now for a quick test. JARVIS, what's Loki's current body temperature?"

**One hundred-two degrees Farenheit, sir.**

"Christ. No wonder you look like someone locked you in a sauna. And it appears to be getting worse. That's almost half a degree higher than when Bruce was in here an hour ago."

"Thank you for that encouraging revelation, Stark," Loki summoned up the determination to hiss. "Now if you haven't any other miraculous observations or speculations to make about my condition, I would very much appreciate to be left to melt to death _alone_."

Stark was, infuriatingly, unfazed. "No more miraculous observations or speculations. Just a question: What exactly did Thor say to you?"

Loki clenched his jaw shut and narrowed his eyes until they were but sparkling emerald slits. "That is of no import to you whatsoever, Stark. Do not speak of it again."

"How can I not speak of it if I don't even know what I'm speaking _of_? Come on, Shakespeare, spill. If you don't tell me, I'm just going to press gang Bruce into it."

That comment caused Loki to pause briefly. He had been so angry, and hurt, admittedly, by Thor's comment that he had completely forgotten that there had been a third party witness to his outburst. He had found himself trusting the doctor-a bit unwillingly, perhaps, but it was either him or Stark, and the choice there was obvious. He would like to think that Banner would not reveal his secrets, but he also knew that Stark and Banner were quickly becoming fast friends, while he himself, helpless as he was, was still their enemy. The truth was injurious, but blatant. If he did not relate the story in his own words, Stark would merely pry it off of Banner, one way or another. He could lie, he supposed, but what good would it do him? Who was he trying to protect? Certainly not Thor. At that moment, he wanted to whole universe to know just how hurtful his so-called "brother" could really be.

"I asked him to leave me to rest in peace, and he refused because it was his _duty_ to care for me. That was the word he used-it came not from my head."

Stark's reaction was not what he had hoped for. The billionaire just blinked.

"_That's_ why you told him you never wanted to see him again? Because he wants to take care of you?"

Loki heaved a deep sigh that oozed frustration, and then spoke with an edgy false patience. "_No_, you blithering imbecile. I banished Thor from my chambers because that was obviously what he wished. I speak the All-Tongue, Stark-in your primitive language, "duty" means "obligation". If he feels he has no choice but to stay here, then I would rather him not bother himself with me at all. It is better for both of us this way."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, cool the jets, buddy." Stark held both palms out in front of him. "Okay. First of all, what the _hell_? You can't _actually_ believe that your brother..."

"He is _not_ my brother."

"That _your brother_ wants anything more in the world, or universe, or whatever square footage is big to you guys, than to sit in here and take care of you every second until you get better. Oh wait, there_ is _something he wants more. For you to _accept_ it. He keeps trying to get through to you because he thinks it's still possible..."

"And what do you know of it, Stark?" hissed Loki, his voice suddenly low and menacing. It was a tone he had not used since another one-on-one encounter with the self-righteous fool, which had resulted in a failed brainwashing attempt and nearly successful defenestration. "What it is to be doomed to remain alone to wallow in your own pain for all of eternity? To know that no matter how quickly or hard you run away from them, the horrors with _always_ find you? Do not speak to me about possibilities. I am a _god_, and I _know_ that you have no authority over what is possible."

The speech had utterly exhausted Loki. He felt hotter, dizzier, and weaker than ever. He hoped against hope that Stark would not notice his deteriorating state as he sank further into his pillows.

But for several abnormally silent seconds, Stark appeared to be reflecting inward-it was as though he did not see Loki at all. And then he looked straight at him, an intensity alight in his brown eyes that Loki had never seen there before. There was no lightheartedness about him-here was a raw, blazing emotion that had lain in wait, hiding until it was triggered.

"What is it they call you?" Stark asked, his voice almost as menacing as Loki's had been. "The god of lies? Well, I've got news for you, _buddy._ You're lying to _yourself._ But hey, I'm glad you have someone to buy your shit. Because I sure as hell am not."

Loki knew that normally, Stark fed off of other people's reactions to his comments, particularly the person at whom they were directed. But this time, Stark did not even wait for his reply. He just turned and stalked out of the bedchamber, slamming the door behind him.

On any other day, Loki would found no way to quell his curiosity short of working his way into Stark's mind and extracting every detail of its inter-workings to find out precisely what had motivated what he had just said and done. But just now he could barely find the energy to process what had just occurred, let alone analyze it. His body, exhausted from the fever, had begun to shake despite the heat that he felt, and when he lifted an arm slowly from the bed, he could see his hand trembling. He set the offending appendage back down and did the only thing he currently felt capable of-he closed his eyes.

He had thought that relating the details of Thor's transgressions against him to Stark would have made him feel better. After all, Stark would undoubtedly bring the encounter up to the thunder god, and that would hurt Thor. Thor deserved to be hurt, after what he had said. But as usual, reality did not live up to Loki's expectations. Instead of feeling triumphant and smug, he felt ashamed and sick inside. But damned if he was going to consider the reasons-thinking about it made his head hurt.

Well, if this was how he was to feel about the whole situation, he was just going to have to grow accustomed to it from here on out. Because for once, he did not expect Thor to come back.


	10. Chapter 10

**It's a Tony POV chapter! I'm having a lot of fun on vacation, which means I haven't gotten a chance to respond to people's reviews from last chapter yet. Sorry! I will get to it, but for now just let me say thank you! Next chapter will be Tuesday. :) Enjoy!**

It was 2:17 pm, a relatively abnormal time to get drunk. Maybe that was why, Tony thought bitterly, he seemed to be failing to do so.

_I am doomed to remain alone to wallow in my own pity for all of eternity. _He downed another shot of whiskey and set the glass back down on the table with a heavy _clunk. Ha. My thoughts are so eloquent when they use Loki's words. Damn him. Damn him straight to hell, or wherever Frost Giants go that's not good. I hope it's super hot so it's extra painful when he melts._

_Alone._ That was probably part of Tony's problem, but honestly he didn't want to burden anyone else with his internal battles. God only knew Thor had his own problems right now, and he didn't really seem like much of the confidant type anyway. And Bruce...it was true that only a few hours ago, they had spoken of Bruce coming to terms and learning to live with his own personal demon. Tony suspected that he had become something of a sounding board for the normally reticent doctor, and he liked that. As full of himself as Tony could be, he liked helping people. Especially when they were good people, like Bruce.

But when it had been Bruce's turn to bring up Tony's demons, Tony had clammed right up, just like he always did. He had always told himself that he should see a therapist, but it had always been sort of an inside joke with himself. Because what would they do? They would tell him he had PTSD, which he already knew, even though he went to every possible length to avoid giving it that title. And then they would make him _talk_ about it. Tony Stark loved to talk, but not about _that._

He should, he knew. He really should talk about it. After all, there had to be a reason that professional therapists always told their patients to talk about their problems. He didn't really know why. He supposed it had something to do with letting someone else hear it, with knowing that you weren't the only one holding onto this terrible secret. But then you were just burdening someone else with your own problems. And what was the point of liking, or God forbid, _loving_ someone if you were just going to shove all of your problems onto them? Tony knew he didn't like having other people shove _their_ problems onto _him _(Bruce was different-Tony had volunteered for that one). What was the point of it all? Of attachment, of letting people in? Maybe that slimy little bastard was right. Maybe he was doomed to suffer alone with this forever.

His thoughts turned to Pepper. Of the few people truly close to him, she was the one who probably knew him the most. And yet even she knew nothing at all. Their relationship was...complicated. They joked around, they flirted, and occasionally they did some really naughty things which Tony thoroughly enjoyed. And yet, Tony couldn't shake the feeling he sometimes got when he was around her. He didn't _always_ feel it when they were together, just during their quiet moments. He knew what they said love was supposed to be about, whoever "they" were. It involved not keeping things from each other. The things he was keeping weren't secrets, per se, but they were definitely..._things_. Tony loved Pepper more than he'd ever loved anyone in his life, and yet he didn't feel fulfilled with her. And he knew that it was completely his fault. He knew that she would listen-she was, after all, pretty much perfect. All he would have to do would be to open himself to her-that was all it would take. And now he knew that he never could.

"_You have no authority over what is possible."_

Tony filled his shot glass to the brim and knocked it back, but the bliss of intoxication still eluded him. He was glad Pepper was away on that business trip, so she wouldn't have to see him like this. It was like he was trying to spare her the pain, without even being completely conscious of it. It was like a second nature to him. He had never had an innate need to protect anyone before now. Or at least, anyone but himself. And it was that need that was still burning, stronger than ever.

After a couple of more shots, he gave up on the whiskey and locked himself in his workshop, where he stayed tinkering meaninglessly with the Alfa until the wee hours of the morning.

When Tony woke, he was sitting in his rolling chair, his torso folded onto his workbench, his head buried in his arms. He blinked sleepily and looked at his watch. 10:09 am. He didn't remember exactly what time he'd given up toying with the car and thrown in the towel, but it must have been at least five in the morning. Oh, well. There was no use in going back to sleep now-he figured this was as awake as he would get today.

After splashing some water on his face and combing his wetted hands through his hair a few times, he made for the kitchen where he, Bruce, and Thor had been having their breakfasts for the past few days. He didn't expect to see either of his friends there-Bruce had probably been up for hours and was undoubtedly experimenting up in R and D somewhere, most likely in the medical lab, and Thor was probably knocking on Loki's door, begging him to listen to him and accept his loving ministrations. Tony doubted the determined thunder god would be put off by his brother's little temper tantrum for very long.

But when he walked into the kitchen, he found that he had only been half right. Banner was nowhere to be seen, but Thor sat at the island bar, staring blankly into a cup of coffee that was wrapped up in his hands. There was no steam rising from the drink, and Tony wondered how long it had been since the coffee was actually hot.

"Hey," he said softly, not wanting to startle his friend. In the most delayed reaction Tony had ever observed, Thor looked up to regard him. There were dark circles beneath his puffy, bloodshot eyes. It was the sort of look someone only got when they had been crying for a long time. Not just a short little boo-hoo and then everything was fine. No, Thor's waterworks had been on for quite awhile. Tony couldn't see any tears now-_thank God_-but he wasn't sure how long that would be the case. He knew he should tread lightly-an emotionally compromised Thor promised to be almost as dangerous as an angry Bruce-but as usual, his curiosity got the better of him. However, he did pride himself on being considerate enough to poke and prod more gently than normal.

"You don't look like you slept well, and I think your coffee's cold. You want me to heat it up for you?"

Thor looked down bewilderedly at the mug in his hand, as though he were only realizing at that moment that he was holding something. After several seconds, he nodded silently and held the cup out to Tony.

"You know, you're clamming up just as much as your brother," said Tony as he stuck the mug in the microwave. "What is this, like some sort of Asgardian pouting ritual or something?"

"You would hold your tongue, Stark, if you knew what was good for you," growled Thor suddenly, but he sounded more tired than threatening.

"Since when have I done anything because it was _good_ for me? You've seen how much I drink. Or you _should_ have seen last night. But maybe not, because that turned out to be kind of a failure. Anyway, how's Loki doing?" He tacked the question on the end of his ramblings, which he was wont to do, in hopes that it would somehow soften the bluntness of it. But his strategy didn't really work, because Thor seemed to shatter before his eyes. His shoulders slumped visibly, and he took on a sad-puppy look that rivaled Steve's trademark one.

"I have not been to see my brother since before I spoke to you yesterday. I told you that he does not wish to see me again. After what I have done, I have no right to infringe upon his will, even though I wish more than anything that I could just provide him with some comfort while he is ill, small as that comfort may be." He swallowed and drew a shuddering breath.

_Damn. He's gonna cry again. Damn damn damn damn damn. _Tony regretted ever asking the question and hoped desperately that emotional god would just stop talking, but it was not to be so. Thor did, however, manage to keep the tears at bay, for which Tony was grateful. Crying just made everything so...complicated.

"Even as a child, Loki was so different from the rest of us. My friends and I were all strong and healthy, hardly ever ill and never badly or for very long. Loki was always delicate, in a way-thin and pale and much more prone to illness. Fevers would affect him more often and more severely than the rest of us, and he still struggles with chronic stomach upsets-several types of food make him sick. I realize now that this...fragility is because he was born much smaller than the other members of his race, although I never really stopped to think about why he was the way he was before. It was not something I was concerned with-he was my brother and I loved him the way he was. And though I hated to see him ill, I must admit I appreciated having the opportunity to care for him. That is not...wrong, is it?"

The microwave beeped just then, so Tony had a couple of extra seconds to think while he removed the coffee cup, which was now steaming, and handed it to the distracted Thor, who hesitated slightly before taking it from his hands.

"I'm not really the best person to be answering that question. I'm an only child, so I don't know what caring for a sibling feels like. But I don't really think it's wrong. I mean, it's not like you were purposefully slipping oranges into his fruit salad or anything, right?" asked Tony, remembering Thor's comment a couple of mornings ago about citrus fruits being one of Loki's trigger foods. Thor shook his head emphatically.

"No! Of course not! I would never..."

Tony held up a hand. "Then I think you're fine. If he was gonna be sick anyway, he might as well have had someone looking out for him. I mean, that's kind of what older brothers are supposed to be for, right?" Or at least, that was how Tony had always thought things worked.

Thor nodded. "That is precisely what I have always thought. And I think back then, Loki did, too. The more ill he was, the more comfort he seemed to take in my presence. It was tore my heart to pieces to watch him hurting, but I would not have left his side during those times for all of the wealth in the Nine Realms. And now he is ill and getting worse and I do not know what ails him, and he does not even wish to see my face and it is all my fault..." Tears began to fall from his already swollen eyes. Tony wondered just how long Thor had spent moping and crying like this over the past day and night. It was time to put a stop to this. He might not be able to make everything better, but maybe he could at least make the thunder god stop crying.

"Okay, Point Break, look here." Thor sniffled and ran his hand over his eyes, but he did look at Tony, who tried to ignore the fresh tears still rolling down his friend's cheeks. "I got Loki's side of the story yesterday too, although I probably wouldn't have believed him if you hadn't been all _'I'm such an awful brother'_ right before that. And I'll admit, that probably wasn't the nicest thing you've ever said to him, but hey, we all make mistakes. Even those of us who are gods." He winked at Thor, who either did not understand the joke or did not feel like acknowledging it. Tony mentally rolled his eyes and continued.

"I mean, after all, how many horrible things has Loki said to you over the past couple of weeks? He should be able to suck it up just this once."

"Stark, my brother is not well. Not only in his body, but in his mind as well. That was incredibly clear when he attempted to subjugate your realm, and I fear the Allfather's punishment and its lingering effects have made it all the worse. Loki is...haunted, and very unstable. I should have known to think about my words before I spoke, but I blurted it out, as I always do. Loki always teased me for my tactlessness, and now I fear I lived up to every one of his taunts. He already felt like an outsider, and my implying that he was nothing more than a burden to me made it all the worse. It was the _last_ thing he needed right now."

"But you can still try to fix it." Thor shook his head, but Tony pressed onward. "Give him a little bit of time alone, and then come in with an apology all thought out beforehand, so you don't slip up again. He might not welcome you with open arms-because, let's face it, he wasn't exactly doing that before yesterday-but it can't hurt to try to make him see that the way he took your statement wasn't how you intended. Just give it some time, buddy." He squeezed Thor's shoulder in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. He was ridiculously new to this whole pep-talking thing, even though he seemed to have been doing an insane amount of it lately.

"I wish I could have as much faith in the matter as you, Stark," replied Thor with a heavy sigh.

"Well, at least promise me you'll think about it." Tony wasn't about to give up now, and he could see that Thor finally sensed that. The god afforded him a weary nod. "Great! Okay, I don't know about you, but I think it's time for some fix-the-city planning! It's been a couple of days, and there's nothing better to take your mind off of your troubles than a project! I know that's what I do." Secretly, Tony wanted to stay preoccupied for his own sake even more than Thor's-Loki's sneering words kept jumping unbidden back into his mind, and it was simultaneously driving him crazy and bring back _things_ that he shouldn't be thinking about involving torture and captivity. And Pepper. After his revelation the previous day, he did not really want to think about her right now either, even though he missed the sunniness she brought to the tower and to his life. He wondered how she would take to Loki when she came back. Nope, better not to think about her right now, either.

Thor was about to respond when the elevator _dinged_ and Bruce entered the room.

"Oh, hey. Everyone's down here. Nice."

Tony glanced at his watch. 10:53 am. "You here for second breakfast?" he asked with a rather forced grin, making a reference to the movie they had watched a couple of nights ago, _The Fellowship of the Ring_. He could see the flicker of recognition in Bruce's eyes, but the doctor did not smile.

Uh-oh.

"No, I just wanted some more coffee. I know I could ask JARVIS, but I've been up in the lab awhile, so I thought I'd come down and get it myself."

Bruce sounded normal enough, but Tony could tell that something was bothering him, and he figured he knew what it was about. Thor, of course, got to the question first.

"Dr. Banner, have you been to see my brother this morning?"

"Umm...yeah." There was the hesitation. Yep, Tony had been right. Of course. "I figured since you two...aren't exactly on speaking terms, and I've been doing his diagnostics, I'd bring him some breakfast and check up on him."

"Is he well?" Thor wasn't about to let him stop there. Bruce sighed resignedly.

"He's running cold again. His fever broke at about nine last night, and then his temp stayed normal until early this morning, except for one mild spike which I think was probably a nightmare. But then he dropped from ninety-eight-four to ninety-five-nine in less than two hours. Two and a half degrees in that amount of time is...well, it's kind of dangerous, frankly."

"Dangerous?" Tony swore that Thor's eyes were the size of dinner plates as he spoke. "To what degree?"

"It just isn't good for the body to change temperature so drastically in so short a period of time. If Loki's body doesn't have enough time to adjust, he could go into shock. Speaking of which, Tony, can the temperature sensor be programmed to monitor other vitals as well? We need to keep an eye on his pulse, respiration, and blood pressure."

Tony very much respected Bruce in his down-to-business mode. The first time they had worked together, locating the Tesseract while on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s helicarrier, he had been amazed at the change that had come over the doctor when he stepped into the lab. Where had moments before been a quiet, reserved, nervous man had suddenly stood someone who was confident and comfortable and felt completely in control. He had given Tony orders, and Tony had, amazingly, followed them. Bruce was never, ever bossy-instead, he spoke with a tone that suggested mastery of the subject and compelled whoever was working with him not to take him with anything less than the utmost seriousness. Tony and Bruce joked and played around, yes, but Bruce got like this, Tony knew to listen.

"Uh, yeah, no problem. I'll get right on that. Any brainwaves from the second round of blood work?"

Bruce shook his head, looking disheartened. "No, nothing. Still normal. He's not fighting off any kind of infection, or else his white blood cell count would be through the roof. I don't know." He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, which was already mussed from having done so several times that morning. "I'm no closer to figuring out what's causing this than I was to start with. Honestly, I'm not sure where to go from here, other than just treating the symptoms. I'd like to think it'll just go away on its own and all we have to do is wait it out, but it's not a virus, and there's no telling what else this has in store for him."

Bruce looked apologetically at Thor, who was gripping the edge of the island so hard that his knuckles had turned white. Tony was thankful that his countertops were solid granite, or else he would have been worried about them crumbling.

"You mean you cannot cure my brother?" Thor's normally deep and strong voice was reduced to a cracking, frightened half-whisper. Bruce looked sickeningly guilty, although Tony supposed he shouldn't have expected anything different from him. Of course the gentle and caring Dr. Robert Bruce Banner, nuclear physicist by trade but physician at heart, would emotionally invest himself in his patient's welfare, even if said patient had tried to become dictator of Earth and nearly destroyed Manhattan less than two weeks earlier.

"I...I don't know, Thor. That remains to be seen. But I'm not going to just pretend the problem will go away on its own. I'll keep working. Tony, we can suspend working on the plans for the rebuilding for a few days, right? I know medicine's not your scientific forte, but I'd still really appreciate having someone to bounce ideas off of. Right now I'm coming up dry."

_Well, there went that distraction._ "Um, yeah, I don't see why not. Thor, your pops would fine with that, right?"

Thor cocked his head sideways for a moment, looking more than ever like a confused spaniel, but then he seemed to take Tony's meaning. "I doubt my father foresaw this occurrence. Despite everything that has happened, he sees Loki as his son, and I know that he would not wish for harm to come to him."

_I'm not sure what your definition of 'harm' is, but I'd kinda have to argue with that,_ thought Tony. For once, he had the restraint not to voice his opinion aloud.

"Great. So, new plan-Bruce and I will head up to the medical lab and have a brainstorming confab, and Hammer of Justice will..."

"Surely my brother should not be alone?" Thor interrupted. "If he is so cold, would not having someone next to him help to warm him?"

"I don't really see any other way around it, Thor," said Bruce sadly. "Something tells me he wouldn't tolerate cuddling with me or Tony."

Thor swallowed and lowered his eyes to the island's speckled gray countertop. "And me? Did he...say anything about me, when you looked in on him this morning?"

Bruce hesitated, his face drawn into a wince. Thankfully, Thor was still looking downward, but Tony still did not envy Bruce having to discuss this with the emotionally ruined god of thunder.

"I did kind of bring up the subject-gently, mind you. I mentioned that I couldn't stay because Tony and I were going to work on figuring out what was making him sick, and then kind of hinted at the question of whether he wanted to be alone. I kind of tried to prod him in the right direction, but he...kind of said that he'd...rather not have you around."

Thor tried and failed to cover up his injury with a snort. "He said he would rather freeze to death?"

Bruce grimaced. "Those were pretty much his exact words, actually...yeah."

Thor closed his eyes, and Tony prayed-actually _prayed_-that he wouldn't start crying again. Tony didn't think he could take any more of that. Too many emotions before lunchtime. Nope, not a good idea at all.

Bruce reached out and laid a hesitant hand on the thunder god's shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "Thor, I'm really sorry..."

"No," interrupted Thor, turning his watery gaze on the doctor. "You have been incredibly kind, Dr. Banner. Now that I have betrayed my brother so terribly that he will not allow me to care for him, you have been so wonderful to step in and look after him. And you are devoting so much time trying to trace the source of his ailment...I am truly, truly grateful. And I think Loki is, too, although he does not show it."

"Thanks," said Bruce after a hesitation. Tony noted that his friend's cheeks flushed a little, and, since neither Thor nor Bruce was looking at him, he allowed himself the smallest of smiles.

Bruce continued. "It's no less than anyone else with half a heart would do. I mean, it would be pretty cruel just to let him suffer, right?"

"My brother is responsible for the deaths of many innocent people and a massive amount of destruction. I do not think there are many who would do what you are doing. You are a good man, Dr. Banner." Thor smiled up at Bruce, but Tony could see just how forced the action was. Now that the two researchers were supposed to be going up to the lab, Thor would be left alone with his woes, and Tony knew from personal experience that too much time by yourself with nothing but painful, icky thoughts gnawing at you was a bad, _bad_ idea.

"Hey Electric Slide, you wanna watch a movie while Doctor Awesome and I are talking boring physiology? I can put on the next _The Lord of the Rings_ movie for you." It wasn't a great idea, but it was the best he had right then.

Thor opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated. Tony tried to ignore the burning sensation inside him-heartache? Not hardly-when he realized he knew what the thunderer had intended to say at the same moment he had almost said it. Thor had been going to say that he was going upstairs to check on his brother, out of habit. Tony forcefully blinded himself to the anguish in those expressive blue eyes, tapping out a tune on the countertop and looking around the room so he wouldn't have to meet Thor's gaze.

"Yes, that would be nice. Thank you, Stark."

"No probs." _Just promise me you'll concentrate on it and not the pathetic little shit upstairs. The pathetic little shit who I'm still really pissed at. And at the same time, I'm feeling sorry for him. Damn it. I've had way too many emotions lately. No more emotions. Not for a long time._

But a smaller part of Tony, way back in the farthest corner of his mind, whispered,

_If only it were that easy._


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm back! Here's some more Loki whump for you. :D I'm very excited about the next chapter-it's one of my personal favorites and I'm very proud of it. But that's for Friday! Enjoy this one, and thank you for reading and reviewing. I'm up to 90 reviews now-far more than I've ever had on a story before. *Happy dance***

Loki had been freezing for _hours_. After his fever had finally broken, he had barely even had time to rejoice, however quietly, in returning to a state of relative normality before he had begun to feel too warm, which he had noticed before the previous bout of chills. Then, he had attributed it to the fever he had had just before, but now he was not so sure. Not that he was sure of anything anymore-he could barely concentrate on whatever he set his mind to thinking.

After Stark had finally let him be the previous day, it had been all Loki could do not to pass out then and there. He had felt so incredibly sleepy, but the shakiness of his limbs and the fire which consumed his body had made rest elusive, despite how much his mind and body cried out for it. He had finally slept, but he had woken often to find himself lying in a different position each time, undoubtedly a result of tossing and turning in his fevered fretfulness. On the fourth time that he had woken, though, he had no longer felt warm-his sweat had dried on him, leaving a salty residue. Normally, Loki would have been disgusted by the state of his body and immediately washed himself and changed his clothing and probably his sheets as well, but instead he had immediately gone back to sleep, grateful for the opportunity.

But his reprieve had only lasted a few short hours, for his omnipotent nightmares had come to visit him like an evil, grinning, leering monster. He had dreamt that the crowds of angry Midgardians had been tossing him back and forth from standing right next to an enormous bonfire, where he felt his skin might roast and melt from his flesh like a wild boar on a spit, to a sheet of thin ice, which every time broke under his weight and sent him plummeting to the breathtakingly frigid depths below. Time and time again he would be torn from the grasp of one torture and forced into another, until finally he was melting and gasping and freezing and drowning all at the same and he couldn't _breathe_. And then suddenly he had been sitting up in bed, back in his chamber in Stark's tower, sweating and shaking and hoping desperately that no one would walk in and witness his tears of terror.

He had had the worst difficulty returning to sleep after that, for every time he closed his eyes, his dream reentered his consciousness with a vengeance. He had rested for maybe an hour more when he had woken once again, inexplicably that time, feeling fitful and too hot.

And then the chills had started. He had been curled up in the smallest ball he could manage, buried beneath his blankets when Banner had entered, bearing a tray of steaming hot tea and what looked like porridge.

"JARVIS told me you were running cold, so I thought you might like something hot," the doctor had said in his perpetually kind manner. Loki had whispered his thanks and uncoiled enough to reach for the tea. He had drank it too soon and it had scalded his tongue, but he hadn't minded. The warmth flooding through his body, however temporary, had felt positively glorious. Banner had tried to convince him to allow Thor to sit with him, without actually mentioning Thor's name. It was clever, but Loki had refused. The thought of the previous day's events awoke within him a freezing ire which only made him feel all the colder and all the worse.

After Banner had left, Loki had finished his tea and shakily picked up the bowl of porridge. It smelled different-sweeter-than the dish he used to enjoy on Asgard. Porridge, childish of a culinary option though it was, was one of those rare foods that usually had a calming effect on his sensitive stomach, and consequently eating the warm mush had always brought him a sense of security. But when he had swallowed his first bite, it stuck inside him on the way down, leaving him with an uncomfortable and false feeling of fullness. It was as though every muscle in his body was contracting for the purpose of shivering, leaving no way for his stomach to function properly. Regretfully, Loki had given up on the prospect of eating the porridge, and had instead held the warm bowl close to his body until, all too soon, it had equalized with his body temperature and he was left just as cold as he had been before.

Now Loki tried to wrap himself in his ocean of blankets, remembering the soothing nature of the warmth around him from two days before, but he found that with his trembling, heavy limbs, he could not accomplish the action nearly as effectively as Thor had. Giving up and curling as tightly as he could beneath the pile, Loki tried to push away all thoughts of the one who fancied himself his brother. _Brother._ What sort of brotherly love could Thor possibly feel for him? By his own admission, he felt obligated to care for Loki.

What that what Loki was to him, then? A little pet, something to claim possession of but not be his equal? Incapable of caring for himself, so that Thor must do it for him, out of a need to ensure that this thing that he owned underwent the proper maintenance? All the better, then, for possessions were often cast aside and forgotten after a short time. Wasn't that what Loki had wished for, back on Asgard? To be erased from all memory, for those whose lives he had affected to forget that he had ever existed? To waste away into nothingness so that the universe would no longer be troubled with him, Loki, the god of mischief and mayhem and lies and chaos and reducing things to rubble?

What was he now? Not a god anymore, hardly. It was not just his magic he had been stripped of, it was his conviction. He had had a goal firmly implanted in his head, and now that was gone. It had vanished the moment he had awoken from a day and night of horrible dreams that were real because of the things he had done. Now he was _nothing_. He was weak and ill and damaged beyond repair, a sickly little runt of a race of monsters. Thor had been right. He was nothing but a burden.

A tiny part in the back of his mind pricked at his consciousness, saying that he was twisting Thor's words to feed his own flaming hatred and misery. It said that what Thor had _really_ meant was that he loved Loki so much that there was no way he could _not_ care for him, because he would feel he had failed as an elder brother if he let his little Loki suffer alone. Yes, Loki knew how Thor thought. His was not exactly a difficult mind of which to discern the workings. And it was _that_ little, minuscule, almost nonexistent sliver of Loki that whispered that he had purposefully misinterpreted Thor's words and pushed him even further away for the purpose of shielding him. To keep him from knowing the depths of his broken soul and shattered heart, and maybe to lessen the pain should whatever it was that was making Loki shiver and burn eventually claim his life.

But Loki chose not to listen to that part of himself. He _hated_ Thor, he thought. _He is _not_ my brother. He is a nuisance and an idiotic oaf and he would never even give me the chance to be his equal even though it was all I ever wanted, and I have already wasted too much precious time allowing him to be a part of my life._

He tried actively to think of something else, but other than fan the flames of his anger toward Thor, all he could do was dwell on the misery of his situation. He did not think he had ever felt so cold in all of his life as he did at that moment. The very few times they had been to Jotunheim, Thor and Sif and the Warriors Three had always walked with their furs and hoods pulled tightly around them, shivering in the biting, frigid wind. But Loki had felt nearly comfortable, and had stood straight and walked on without hugging himself or shaking.

But he was certainly shaking now. Here, covered in four blankets and a comforter, in a climate-controlled bedroom. Something was obviously terribly wrong with him. He knew that Banner was trying to discern the source of his illness, and he had to admit that he was, deep down inside, grateful for the doctor's kindness and devotion. But he also knew that Banner had, at this moment, absolutely no idea what ailed him, nor did he have any leads to follow. Banner had sighed sadly when he had related to him that the results of his blood tests were the same as they had been before. Stark's machinery said there was nothing wrong with Loki. Loki was as healthy as a rampaging bilge snipe.

_I most certainly am not_, he thought, the shivers wracking him again. If he was honest with himself (which was a rare occurrence, for the Liesmith lied to _everyone_) he did not know how much more of this he could take-this burning one moment and then freezing the next. This not having answers.

There was a time not so long ago when he would have given up. That was the Loki he had been when he had let go of Gungnir and fallen from the Bifrost and into the Dark World because no one who he looked up to approved of him. That Loki would have actively tried to find a way to make the pain stop, because he was too scared to deal with it.

But that Loki had died when he had plummeted into the abyss. In his place had emerged a new Loki, a Loki with purpose and drive. A Loki who _wanted_ something, who had something to live for.

But that Loki had been denied what he sought, and so that Loki had died, too. He had been killed by the Allfather's punishment.

And now, Loki was not sure what he was. Did he even have enough substance left to be any version of Loki? He would have to say that who he was now was closer to the first Loki, the one who would try to end his own suffering because he dreaded what might come next. Except now he had no desire to bring about his own demise, although he was not exactly sure why. It was not as though he had anything left to live for. Perhaps part of it could be attributed to his knowledge that he no longer had any security cushion in the form of his magic. If he were to stab himself or throw himself from the roof of the tower, he would die. His life would be over, and he would have no opportunity to be alive ever again. And that sense of finality frightened him a little.

But mainly he did not have the strength. Killing yourself required energy-mentally convincing yourself that it was truly what you wanted. Loki knew this from personal experience. And he was _exhausted_. No, it was better just to lie here and wait for whatever torment would assault him next. Just as long as he did not have to rise from his bed, where the chill was just bearable, he could persevere, if only for a little while longer.

He did not allow himself to think of one more reason why he did not consider suicide to be an option any longer. That reason, had he allowed it to form in his mind, would have had something to do with someone who cared about him very much, and how hurt they would be if he were to suddenly no longer exist. And if he had dwelled upon this idea for any length of time, he might even have thought that this was not only what kept him from actively killing himself, but it was also the concept that secretly drove his continued ability to exist, even through the agony of his illness and his nightmares and his guilt.

But Loki chose to ignore those inklings.

Four days passed in relative quiet, as far as interaction went. The only person Loki ever saw was Banner, who brought him sustenance, though Loki's misery afforded him the ability to eat only a very little. His temperature continued to swing back and forth like a pendulum, first hot and then cold, and the distance from normal seemed to increase with each subsequent change. The numbers themselves really meant nothing to Loki-the Midgardians' way of measuring heat and cold was foreign to him-but he was perfectly proficient at both mathematics and logic. And it did not take a scholar of his caliber to realize that the continually increasing and decreasing values did not bode well for his health. Ninety-five point seven, one hundred two point three, ninety-five point four, one hundred three...after that Loki stopped paying attention to the numbers the faceless voice announced when Banner inquired the information of it. He found that it was better not to know-hearing the values made him nervous, and that depleted the precious little energy he had. Knowing exactly how much worse he was getting would not help him get well, so the numbers mattered not.

The only times Loki rose from his bed were to use the washroom adjacent to his chamber; once, when the heat from his fever became so oppressive it felt as though he could not breathe, he had tried to use shower again. He had turned the silver knob all the way to its coldest setting, and the shock of the frigid water on his burning skin had made his heart miss a beat. But he had remained persistent, determined to do _anything_ that might at least lessen the heat, and after a bit he had gotten used enough to the cold to tolerate it. But by then, his exhaustion had caught up with him, and he had been unable to control the shaking of his legs. He'd had barely enough time to exit the dangerously slippery shower before he collapsed, managing to catch himself on the closed lid of the toilet and heaving himself up to sit on it where he had remained, trembling. Sitting there, he had had five minutes of relative normality in temperature as the water evaporated from his skin, and then he had gone back to burning.

After that, he had realized that nothing could be done truly soothe the discomfort brought on by his fevers. The little white objects called "Tylenol" that Banner gave him helped a little, but the effects were mild and short-lived, and did nothing to prevent the heat from coming back. But it was the chills that truly made him suffer. _How ironic_, he thought bitterly, _that the bane of a Frost Giant should prove to be the cold._ During his periods of low temperature, Loki would huddle beneath his pile of blankets and shiver uncontrollably for hours, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering and hoping that every second might be the last before the burden of suffering was lifted from his shoulders, if only for a few blissful hours.

Banner came at mealtimes, and sometimes even more often, if Loki's temperature was particularly abnormal, to bring him food and monitor his condition. The doctor would knock-he was the only person in this forsaken tower who possessed the apparently elusive ability to do so, it appeared to Loki-and Loki would respond with a quiet "Come in". Then the doctor would push the door open, set the tray of food, if he bore it, on the bedside table, and then proceed to inquire of the voice in the ceiling concerning Loki's vital signs. The thin plastic device on his arm had been reprogrammed to give information regarding not only his temperature, but his heart rate, his breathing, and the pressure of his blood as well. Banner would take a few moments to process the data that JARVIS provided him, and then go about the task of attempting to ease Loki's discomfort. He spoke very little to his patient, usually only to give gentle orders, telling Loki which way to turn his body in bed or suggest that he drink at least a whole glass of water over a certain period of time. Banner did not comment on the increasingly obvious gravity of Loki's situation, and for this, Loki was grateful. He knew that his prospects were not positive, but he preferred not to be reminded of that fact.

The doctor did his best to care for Loki without being too intrusive. He seemed able to guess at what points Loki would draw the line at his ministrations, or else he was overly careful. Perhaps it was a bit of both, thought Loki. When Loki was feverish, Banner would fill a bowl with cool water and leave it and a stack of cloths on the bedside table. When he left, Loki would dip one of the cloths in the bowl, wring it out, and place it on his brow, often covering his eyes, and would enjoy the tiny breath of relief it brought him. Even as ill as he felt, he would not have allowed Banner to sit at his bedside and bathe his forehead, although he could not picture the doctor doing that, anyway. The act of dipping and wringing needed to be performed frequently, however, and it got to be rather exhausting. Loki did find himself quietly wishing that he did have someone to soothe his fevered brow for him, but his practicality told him that there was no one. If he needed to choose between comfort and rest, then so be it.

When Loki had chills, Banner would wrap him in blankets as Thor had done (Loki's shivers and weakness always seemed to prevent him from accomplishing this task), and Loki would feel ever so slightly less miserable for a time. Or at least, until he needed to rise from his bed to relieve himself. Annoyingly, he seemed to feel the need to do so more frequently when he had chills than other times. Or perhaps it just seemed that way because it meant he could not return to his lovely little cocoon until Banner returned, and sometimes he would be waiting for hours. For no matter how high his fever or how violent his shivers became, Loki refused to call for the doctor, even though he knew that he could simply by asking the voice with no body. He would not summon Banner away from whatever he was doing simply because he felt too hot or too cold. For one thing, Loki was far too proud to do that. And for another, although he tried to push this reason to the back of his mind, he was secretly quite grateful to the kind doctor for his care. After all, Banner had no obligation of any sort to see to Loki's well-being. By all rights, he should want Loki dead. But instead, he gave of himself to help a poor, miserable little wretch of a Frost Giant feel ever-so-slightly less miserable. If not for him, Loki would be entirely alone, and for the first time in a while, he was glad to have _someone_. And Loki's pride dictated that he should do what he could to repay the doctor, and that began with not asking him to spend any more time in his company than Banner initiated himself. The doctor was doubtlessly a busy man, and Loki would not pull him away from his activities any more than he already had.

The periods of time between the rising and falling of Loki's body temperature were short-lived-a few hours at the most. It was only during those times when he could find the solace of rest, although all too soon he would be awakened in terror by his nightmares, often finding to his chagrin that he was either beginning to feel chilled or too warm once again. But there were times-terribly brief, but lovely times-when he received a reprieve from his torment.

On the fourth night after his banishment of Thor from his bedchamber, Loki woke panting and trembling once again, the cries of his victims still resounding in his ears.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, tucking his legs up to his chest and hugging them to his body. "I'm so sorry, please just leave me alone, please, I'll do anything..."

Loki wept quietly into his knees for a few minutes. At last, the cries and screams receded into the back of his consciousness, and he became aware of the unusually bright moonlight streaming in through the cracks between the blinds of the window. Sniffling and running the back of his forearm over his wet eyes, he got to his feet and walked over to the source of the light, lifting one blind so that it bent upward and peering through the small slit he had created out into the city. He could see the broken profile of a full moon. Loki laid the back of his hand on the window, and the pane felt cool but not cold to his touch. He himself felt of a medium temperature as well, for once. Suddenly Loki decided to seize the moment. He fought down the tiny whisper in the back of his mind that said the reason he did it was because this might be the last opportunity he would ever have to see a full moon. _No. That's not the reason,_ he thought obstinately. _I have never seen a Midgardian full moon. Yes, that is why. They only come once monthly by their calendar, so I must take the chance to see it in person while I can._

"JARVIS?" Loki inquired tentatively, instinctively tilting his head to face the ceiling, despite the fact that he knew this was not necessary.

**At your service, sir.**

"Where is everyone else in the tower?" He glanced at the clock on his bedside table, whose numbers were lit up a fluorescent red. It read 1:34 in the morning.

**Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner, and Thor are all sleeping in their rooms, sir.**

"Thank you," murmured Loki. Draping a blanket around his shoulders and holding its edges together in front of him, he slowly made his way to the elevator.


	12. Chapter 12

**So this is definitely my favorite chapter so far. :D The next chapter will be on the short side, but it's a very important transition point. And then after that...you'll see. But it's big, my friends. ;) But enough teasing-one chapter at a time! Thanks for the reads and reviews, and I hope you enjoy!**

At first, he was only aware of the explosions. The blinding light that accosted his eyes before the reverberation of the blast sent a cloud of dirt barreling into his eyes, leaving a painful grit that forced them closed. The earth-shattering noise that echoed off of the hills in the distance, an eerie and imminent call of death that resounded throughout the land. The smell of the burnt explosive, burnt metal, burnt flesh...it made him feel nauseous in his blindness, and he struggled to escape the smell, to hide somewhere, _anywhere_, as long as it could not find him.

But as he tried to move, he became aware of another smell-the acrid tang of blood. This was much closer to him, and he realized that it was coming from himself. For a moment, he could do nothing but lie there, shock and horror pulsing through him as the scarlet tide expanded outward far too rapidly. And then the pain hit him, full-force, and he tried to scream but found he could not, although whether it was the shock or the horror that kept him silent, he did not know.

The fear held him in such paralysis that he could only think one thing. _I did this. I am the creator of explosions, and now one of them has killed me. And so many other people who don't deserve this are going to die, and I won't be able to stop it because I'm going to be dead. I'm going to die. Now._

It was the most terrifying thought he had ever had, and perhaps it was the sheer horror of it that woke Tony up. He shot upright into a sitting position, completely winded, struggling to catch his breath and clutching at his chest, feeling for the wound that he knew had to be there, bleeding and draining his life force.

But his hand struck the solid, unyielding material of his arc reactor, and suddenly reality came flooding back to him. He was in his room, in his tower, in New York City. He was not currently bleeding to death, and there were no explosions going on at the current moment, or at least not in the immediate vicinity.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the dream from his mind as he waited for his heartbeat and respiratory rate to become normal. It took at least two full minutes for his vitals to return to their default settings, and even once they had, the dream remained there, at the forefront of his consciousness, as though his memories were laughing at him. _Haha. You stupid moron. You think that just because you suddenly decided not to make weapons anymore, it makes up for what you spent years doing. For all the people who died while you partied and got rich. You think we'll go away just because you're suddenly a good guy now?_

He didn't think that, or at least not anymore. He had, for a short time. His sudden decision to change the focus of his company after coming back from his rather extended stay in Afghanistan had not been a completely selfless act. (After all, when had Tony Stark ever committed a completely selfless act? Okay, suicide nuclear missile deflection aside. That had been in the heat of the moment.) He had been hoping that maybe somehow, if he committed to doing the right thing from there on out, he would be able to push everything from his mind. But of course, that hadn't even come close to working. Yeah, he felt a little better about himself, but sometimes it made him feel even worse. And then there were the nightmares, like tonight.

He found himself wishing, just for a moment, that Pepper was there. He would have appreciated the opportunity to feel her next to him just then, maybe even have her hold him...but no. That was a bad idea. Because then he'd have to tell her what had happened, why he was so uncharacteristically shaken. It was better for her not to be there, to spare him the awkwardness and her the pain of his own problems.

Loki's words from a few days ago came back to him then, unbidden. _"What do you know of it, Stark? What it is to be doomed to remain alone to wallow in your own pain for all of eternity? To know that no matter how quickly or hard you run away from them, the horrors with always find you_?_"_

Tony found he no longer felt angry at the little turd for what he'd said, because he accepted that those words were true for him. He'd lashed out at Loki because he'd hit a nerve, bringing up the thing that Tony most hated thinking about. But now, sitting here alone in the darkness, he felt resigned to them. He was never getting away from any of it-the explosion, his injury, the torture, the fear, the guilt-none of it. No matter how far or fast he ran, they would always catch up.

He needed a drink. Shaking his head vigorously to clear it, Tony got to his feet and located his bathrobe. Then he headed for the elevator, where he punched the button for the top story. It might still bear a Loki-shaped imprint in the floor, but the penthouse bar was still where he kept his hardest, most potent liquor, and he couldn't really do with anything less than that right now.

When the elevator deposited him into the foyer of crumbled tile and shattered glass, Tony paused on his way over to the bar to look out at the night. Since the destruction that had been wreaked on the top floor of his tower, there was very little glass left in any of the windowpanes that had previously taken the place of the wall. Now, it was almost as though the room itself were outside-standing there, his head covered by the roof, Tony could feel the summer breeze, still comfortable but with just a hint of chill, foreshadowing the coming autumn. It was...kind of nice. He suddenly thought that maybe he should redesign the top floor to be all open instead of just having it repaired to be how it was before. Since, you know, he had to have the remodeling done anyway.

A flicker of movement from the roof caught his eye, and he blinked to focus. Although his tower rose above the abrasive lights of the city, there was still plenty of residual glow for him to see that Loki was standing there. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he was leaning against one of the few parts of the railing that remained, staring off into the distance in his characteristically dramatic way. Tony raised an eyebrow. He had only seen Loki out of his room once since his arrival nearly a week prior, and that had only been because Loki had been trying to escape the discomfort of what he thought was an improperly temperature-regulated room.

As quietly as he could, Tony edged over to the bar, poured himself a drink, and then made his way to the least dangerous-looking broken window. From there, he stepped out onto the roof, priding himself in the quietness of his steps.

Then, without turning around, Loki said, "If you are trying to sneak up on me, Stark, I suggest you abandon the endeavor. Even had I not heard the obnoxious noise of your elevator, I would have known that you were behind me by the pattern of your walk."

"You know me well enough to distinguish the pattern of my walk? I'm flattered," said Tony, coming to stand next to him and taking a sip of his drink.

Loki snorted softly. "Do not be. The Allfather may have taken away my magic, but he can never take from me my awareness and intuition. I am a master of disguise, Stark, and therefore I can also recognize when other people are trying to disguise themselves. And you lumber along in a particularly ungraceful manner-although, I must admit, it is not nearly so clumsy as Thor's."

The insult was uttered in a mild tone, without any form of bite or anger or acidity, so Tony chuckled warmheartedly. "I'm not sure whether that says more about my walk or Thor's."

He paused, realizing with what ease Loki had brought up the subject of his brother. Surely there hadn't been any form of reconciliation between the two-Tony had seen the god of thunder moping around just that evening. That was all Thor had done for the past four days-mope. Tony had tried everything to distract him-movies, video games, talking about the plans for fixing the city. He'd thought about trying to get Thor drunk, but then it had occurred to him that he would probably pass out long before the god even began to feel the effects of the alcohol, which was probably comparatively weak to what Thor was used to drinking. Also, his tower was already in a state of disrepair. He didn't need a drunken god of thunder making things worse. So the drowning-your-sorrows approach had been a no-go, but Tony had tried plenty of other things to take Thor's mind off his troubles. But none of them had worked. Tony felt awful for the poor guy. He'd been living on blind hope that his brother would someday see the light and accept him, but he'd screwed it up for himself, and now he probably found himself without direction. Hence the wandering aimlessly through the tower, looking lost and crestfallen.

"He's worried sick about you, you know," Tony said softly, purposefully looking out over the rooftops of New York and not at Loki. But he could feel the god of mischief tense up beside him.

"I would prefer us not speak of...Thor." He forced out the name with distaste now, where only a few moments ago it had come so easily.

"Hey dude, you brought him up," Tony muttered, and suffered the wrath of Loki's withering glare. But the expression did not last long; Loki soon tilted his head back once more to look at the sky.

"Doing some stargazing?" Tony prompted. He didn't know why he suddenly felt the need to have a conversation with Loki-but he knew he wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep any time soon, and it wasn't like he had anything else better to do.

"The moon is rather pretty tonight," Loki responded, not turning his gaze away from the blanket of stars. "It has a tinge of orange. It gives the city an almost eerie glow. I like it."

_You would,_ thought Tony with an inward eye-roll. But he had to admit, he agreed with Loki. The full moon was nice to look at.

"You want a drink?" He gestured with the hand holding his glass. "I still owe you one."

Loki shook his head slightly. "I do not think that consuming alcohol would be wise, given my...condition."

"Ah. Good point. Doesn't have to be alcohol, though. Water? Tea?"

"No, thank you." It was a polite refusal, not what Tony was used to hearing from Loki. He studied the god's profile from where he stood next to him. In the bright moonlight, he thought he could make out remnants of tear stains on his cheek. Aha. Why would someone who was chronically haunted by nightmares be crying at two o'clock in the morning? The answer was pretty obvious. It would explain why Loki seemed more subdued than normal, although Tony suspected this also had something to do with his deteriorating physical condition.

A cool breeze teased Tony's short hair, and he wondered if the weather was causing any problems for Loki. Although it was a mild night, Loki's temperature had been so unstable lately that Tony was concerned that anything out of the ordinary might send him swinging in one direction or the other.

"Are you...okay right now? I mean, you don't look like you're too hot or cold, but maybe you want to go inside, just to be safe?"

"No," responded Loki softly. "I rarely feel as though I am neither burning nor freezing these days. I would like to take the little time I have to stand out here and enjoy this night."

Tony nodded. He wasn't about to refuse Loki that.

"And what brings you out here at this hour, Stark?" The question was quiet, not quite conversational, but not entirely dry, either. And it was thoroughly unexpected.

"I...um...I couldn't sleep." There. Not a lie. Not a lie at all. He couldn't have found the blissful solace of rest if he tried right then.

Loki turned toward him then, one ebony eyebrow raised in a slightly condescending form of curiosity.

"But that is not the entire truth, is it, Stark? You forget, it takes a very talented liar to fool me. Much more talented than you."

Now it was Tony's turn to glower, and he saw one tip of Loki's mouth twitch upward in amusement.

"And what makes you think you're entitled to that information? I'm the one letting you stay here while you're sick and without anywhere else to go-even though you've broken off communications with your brother, who was the reason I gave you a room in the first place. So I don't think I have any obligation to tell you anything."

Loki was wearing a full-on smirk by this point. "Ah, so it is what I believed then. I've touched upon a subject which you do not enjoy discussing, have I not? If I had insulted your lying abilities under normal circumstances, you would have laughed me off. But instead, you take up arms." Loki lowered his voice then, his viridian eyes almost as menacing as they had been the day they had stood not ten feet from where they were now, and Loki had lifted his scepter to try and take all of Tony's free will away. "You are here because you are running. You, Stark, are running from your nightmares."

Tony had to police himself to avoid looking wide-eyed. How the _hell_ could he possibly know that? Loki caught his gaze and the smirk returned. "You fail to realize just how much I know about you, Man of Iron. Agent Barton gave me every detail of your file while his mind was mine with which to play. I know all about your little trip to the desert, and what happened to you there."

"No, you don't," Tony hissed. He realized he was squeezing his glass so hard it was in danger of shattering. "You can't, because not everything that happened to me is in that file. You can't even _begin_ to know."

"Can't I?" asked Loki softly. Suddenly the menace was gone from his eyes, and he returned to the quiet, subdued creature he had been just moments before. "I might not know the details, but I know what it is to fall into the hands of someone who wants to use you only for destruction, of yourself and other people. I know what torture is, and I don't mean just by definition. I know what it is to look at something you've done and have your eyes opened to the true horror of it, because suddenly you've suffered yourself because of it. And I know how it can haunt you. You see, Stark," he said with a heavy sigh, "we are out here beneath this sky tonight for the same reason. The stargazing is not a purpose so much as it is an escape."

Tony opened his mouth to utter some form of sarcasm, trying desperately to regain his hold on the situation, but he found he could think of nothing. Loki had hit the nail directly on the head-he had distinguished Tony's exact reasons for having a drink on the roof at two in the morning. The thought wheedled its way into Tony's head once more just how terrifyingly alike he and Loki were. The snark. The wit. The flair for the dramatic. The intelligence. The daddy issues. The nightmares. Their refusal to talk about said nightmares. Distancing themselves from the people who would help them, if given the chance.

"How's that going for you?" he finally asked, looking into his glass and swirling its contents around so that they made a whirlpool. The moon reflected off of them so that crystals of light danced across his drink. "The...escaping thing, I mean?"

Loki actually chuckled a little, lowly and bitterly. "I would venture a guess that my endeavor to escape my own thoughts is progressing about as well as yours. I am correct, am I not?" He turned his head just enough to slightly raise an inquiring eyebrow at Tony.

_Damn it, he's good. Although I guess I'm not exactly making it difficult._ Tony took a drink from his glass. He'd need more alcohol soon.

"I was pretty good at escaping once. I did a hell of a job of it back in Afghanistan. You should have seen the size of the explosion-like Pompeii, just with less lava. Although I guess I kind of failed at that, too, because not everyone who should have gotten out of there alive did. And I guess it's kind of nosedived off a cliff from there." What the hell was he doing? That was the most he'd said about the matter to...anyone. He wasn't drunk-he'd had _one_ drink. He was really talking about this to _Loki_. He needed to stop letting him drive the conversation before it got out of control.

"But this whole feeling guilty thing-it's old news to me, but it's pretty new to you, isn't it? How's life on the side of the morally accountable?"

Loki sneered. "If you consider yourself to be morally accountable, Stark, you have a sadly twisted perception of your own personality."

"You haven't answered my question," Tony stated with an irrepressible grin.

Loki looked off over the city again for several seconds, and then murmured,

"It has brought me nothing but pain and regret. If I could choose to go back, I would. Back when I was ruler of the world, or at least in my own mind. I was mad, yes, but does it matter? I am mad now!" He turned suddenly and clutched at Tony's arm, his voice rising. His green eyes flashed with a terrible glint of insanity, and Tony believed him. "I am still mad, but with nothing to live for. The only thing that has changed is that all my prospectives are gone. I am empty, doomed to live for all eternity as a shell of who I used to be."

Loki ceased to speak, but his chest, covered only in his thin, green button-up pajama shirt beneath his blanket, heaved from the exertion of his diatribe. And suddenly, he didn't look crazy at all anymore to Tony. He just looked sick. Too pale, clothes hanging off a body that was too thin for his tall and gangly form, his eyes sunken, his hair greasy and mussed. He couldn't even sustain a brief monologue without losing his breath. He was someone to be pitied, thought Tony...except Tony _hated_ everything about pity. He would not punish even Loki with pity.

"You're doing it again," he said instead, gently extracting Loki's fingers from his forearm. "That thing where you lie to yourself." Loki scoffed and tried to turn back to lean against the railing, but Tony laid a firm hand on his shoulder to prevent him. "No, you are. There's an inherent contradiction in your statement. You said you wanted to go back to being who you were before, but you also said that you feel _regret_. That means you wish you could undo the things that you did, which would be the complete opposite of what would happen if you went back to being who you were. Does that make sense? Whatever. The point is, in that one word, you just proved to me that you're sorry for what you did. And don't give me the whole "god of lies" shit. Because you're _not_ lying. Wanna know how I know? Because when the god of lies lies, he thinks every single little piece of his story through before he says it to make damn sure it doesn't have even the tiniest hole. If you were lying to me, you would have caught that little contradiction. So I _know_ you just told me the truth, in that one little word."

Loki turned back to him, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "You think yourself so clever, Man of Iron. If you have all the answers, then tell me why, if feeling regret for what I did is right, it has made me more miserable than ever before? And then tell me how to make it so that I do not see the faces or hear the screams of my victims every time I but close my eyes!"

"Whoa, buddy, think about what you're asking here. You think I'd be out here right now if I knew the answer to that question?" A little apprehensively, Tony knocked back what little was left in his glass. He didn't like the direction in which this conversation was returning.

"You are right, I suppose," said Loki, becoming quieter and more subdued once more. _This dude swings back and forth more than a bipolar monkey,_ thought Tony, a little uneasily.

"The great Tony Stark," Loki continued, an audible sneer lacing his voice. "Loves to talk big, about his money, his intelligence, his exploits. But when it comes to what is hidden beneath that little circle of light, well...he does not talk much at all about that, does he?"

Tony fought not to jump down Loki's throat again-last time that had ended in mockery and had gotten him nowhere. Instead, he remained quiet, wondering what Loki would say next.

The broken god of mischief leaned against the railing, arms folded atop the flat surface, staring quietly over the glow of the full moon above and the neon lights below. After nearly a minute had gone by, he spoke once more, his voice barely audible, all traces of taunt gone.

"Stark, there are those in this universe who are fated to benefit it, and there are those who are fated to destroy it. Those of the first kind should not allow themselves to become like the second kind, for they are the only ones blessed with the ability to hope for things that are good. Do not waste that which you are given. Not like I have."

The only thing Tony could do for awhile was just stare at Loki, all the while accosted by a mixture of disbelief and sadness and a terrifying sense of realization.

The first thing Tony realized was that Loki had just attempted to give him _advice. _Loki. Him. Advice. Like Loki was somehow concerned for Tony's wellbeing. Yeah.

The second thing was that beneath his hateful, acidic exterior, Loki was truly dead inside. Or at least he_ thought_ he was. Either way, it made Tony feel sad.

And the third thing was the scariest one of all. Loki was _right_. They were two sides of the same coin, as much as Tony despised cliches. And if he wasn't careful, maybe eventually the memories and the nightmares and guilt would eventually chip away so far at him that he would end up...well, like _Loki_. Bitter and hating the world and wallowing in hopelessness.

_Maybe...maybe it's time to talk about what's been going on with me. Or it will be, when Pepper gets back._ That would give him time to think about exactly what he wanted to say. Yeah. Like planning ahead had ever worked for him. But maybe it was time he just got out there and _said_ it, the consequences be damned. Because they could hardly be worse than what would happen if he held it inside forever.

_Wait a second, "the consequences be damned"? Whoa there, Tony, you're getting a little forward. Maybe I'll just keep...thinking about it. I'm not saying I won't talk to her...but I just need to weigh the pros and cons a little bit more first. Yeah._

Tony was distracted from his scarily schizophrenic-like internal dialogue when Loki suddenly shivered, pulled his blanket tighter about his shoulders, and turned back toward the tower.

"If you would be kind enough to excuse me, I am starting to feel a bit chilled now. I should return indoors."

"Um, yeah," said Tony, snapping back into himself-for it was as though he'd stepped away for a few moments. "Will you be okay? Do you want me to make you some tea or hot chocolate or something?"

"No," said Loki, little too quickly. He paused, and then started again, more slowly this time. "No thank you. I doubt it would help much. It is late, but perhaps one of us may find some solace in rest tonight. Good night, Stark."

"Yeah...'night," said Tony softly as he watched Loki make his way to the elevator, his torso curled in upon itself and the blanket stretched tightly across his thin shoulders.

When he had gone, Tony stood for a few more minutes, just looking at the full moon and finally allowing it to bring him just a little uninterrupted peace. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there when something drove him to look at his watch, which he'd put on instinctively when he'd left his room. It was 3:34 in the morning-he must have been out there longer than he'd thought. It was time to go to bed.

But he was almost to the elevator when he decided that maybe he had time for one more drink.


	13. Chapter 13

**Okay, the next chapter's here! :D It is a bit shorter than the previous chapters have been, but stuff goes DOWN in this chapter (as well as paves the way for more stuff going down next chapter). Also, I LOVE writing Tony's POV. Just saying. Thanks again everyone for your continued reading and reviewing, and please keep up the comments! I love reading what you guys think of the story. :)**

Loki regretted not taking Stark up on his offer of tea quite soon after he returned to his room. Less than two hours after he had crawled into his bed, he was deep within the throes of by far the worst chill he had ever experienced. He thought he had been uncomfortable before, but _this_, this was another beast altogether. During his previous periods of low body temperature, he had found himself wracked with very frequent but intermittent bouts of shivers, and his mind had felt clouded and sluggish. Now though, the shivering was constant and relentless, and his thoughts leapt back and forth from fiction to reality and back to fiction again, so that for some periods of time, he would believe he was in a different place. Back on Asgard, or on Jotunheim. Yes, Jotunheim. That was a fitting analogy of his current state. Was he not equipped to deal with the cold? Why was this affecting him so?

He did not realize that he was crying until the salt from his tears ran into his mouth and laced his tongue. And then he wept for all he was worth, as the agonizing cold overcame his body and his mind, bringing the most painful and terrible depths of his existence to the forefront of his thoughts.

It wasn't _fair_. All he had wanted was to be appreciated, respected, and loved. But he had been lied to by his parents, he was a creature of some monstrous and inherently evil race, he had failed at _suicide_, he had lost his mind as he was caught within the raving depths of one of the darkest places in the universe, and now he had thoroughly succeeded in estranging his brother.

His _brother_. His mind fully acknowledged the term suddenly, the word that he had been denying for so long now. He had hated Thor from the moment he had found out what he truly was because Thor was the standard to which he could compare himself-next to him, Loki was weak and comparatively worthless and unloved (unworthy of love) in every way. Thor had everything, and Loki had nothing. But yet, through it all, Loki could see in his brother's eyes that he would give that everything, all that he had, just to have back the brother he once knew. Loki had almost killed Thor with the Destroyer, he had accused him of trying to murder him, he had dropped him out of the sky in a glass cage, he had stabbed him, and he had purposefully misinterpreted his words of love to push him away. But through it all, even though the determined Thor might have finally given up on all hope of reconciliation, he still loved Loki. Stark's comment on the roof about him being worried proved that.

The back of Loki's mind told him that these thoughts were all a product of his condition-he was delirious, and would return to his right mind when (if) his temperature returned to normal. But then he recalled his words from a few short hours before. _I am mad now!_ He was insane because everything he had had to live for had been taken away from him. It should well have driven him back to suicide, but suddenly, lying there, shivering uncontrollably, he realized how afraid he was to die. Because if he died now, it wouldn't be of his own choosing. He would freeze to death, helpless, not at all in control of his fate. And, though he had voluntarily spent the last two weeks in his chamber, rejecting nearly all forms of company, he suddenly realized that he desperately did not want to die alone.

His delirium might indeed have been driving him towards sentimentality, or it might have been washing his madness away, like the recalibration that had set Barton and Selvig back to their original mental states. Right then, Loki cared not which was true. He was freezing and desperate and maybe even dying and he wanted his _brother._

He drew a shuddering breath, and suddenly something went terribly wrong. He felt his breathing quicken, and a deep, sickening fear clenched at his heart as he realized that he was having to breathe faster to get enough air. And he could feel his heart racing and pounding in his ears. He whimpered in the short space between breaths, trying desperately to quell the sobs which were only making it harder for him to breathe. _I mustn't panic_, he thought. _It will only make things worse. I mustn't..._But his chest was heaving and his heart was beating much too quickly and he couldn't stop shivering and he was _terrified_.

"Help me!" he sobbed, caught between curling in on himself to conserve heat and straightening up to make it easier to breathe. "P...please help me." Maybe someone was listening? But how could they be? He was in one room in this enormous tower. Or was he on a frigid mountaintop in Jotunheim?

He no longer knew.

~~~_The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~_

Tony had maybe only been asleep an hour when he was startled awake again. This time, however, the cause was not a nightmare. It was much more monotonous. And British.

**Sir, Mr. Loki is requesting assistance. He is in his room.**

"Huh?" Tony sat up, rubbing his eyes. Apparently the stars just weren't aligned for him to get any sleep tonight. "He asked for me and not Bruce?"

**He asked for no one specifically, sir. He is requesting "help", and he appears to be in great distress. It is my default programming to pose all generalized requests for assistance to you, my chief engineer.**

"Yeah, yeah, okay..." Tony waved a hand indicative of an order to be silent. He sometimes forgot that the AI could not see nor process his hand gestures. He had been known, on occasion, to give JARVIS the one-fingered salute and grin at the computer's inability to know that he was insulting it. Although that did take away a bit of the fun after awhile.

"JARVIS, what time is it?" he inquired with a yawn as he pulled on his robe.

**Six oh-two a.m., sir.**

"_Six-oh_...ah, screw it. It's officially the morning. Start the coffee, JARVIS."

**I will, sir.**

As Tony made his way to Loki's room, he wasn't quite sure what to expect. A small part of him still halfway suspected that this was all just some insane ploy orchestrated by the god of mischief to make them all look like idiots. But that little voice in the back of his mind was silenced when he opened the guest room door.

Loki was lying on his side, and although he was barely visible beneath his mountain of blankets, Tony could see the entire mound _vibrating_. Any inappropriate joke Tony might have made died on his lips when he heard a sob wrench from the pitiful form on the bed.

"Uh, boy," he muttered. He hesitated for a moment at the door, his mind screaming for him to run away and pretend this wasn't happening. He didn't _do_ illness in general-he'd had enough of that for himself with the whole heavy-metal-poisoning thing, thank you very much. He didn't need anyone else's sickness coming in and making his life complicated. Plus, he was pretty sure he had a terrible bedside manner. But he shook off his reluctance-he couldn't _not_ do anything. Evil supervillain or not, Loki was obviously in agony, and Tony would not be able to live with himself if he didn't try to help. Especially not when Loki had apparently requested help. Tony bent down so that his head was next to Loki's and said softly,

"Hey, Reindeer Games. You don't look so good. What's going on?"

Anguished and frightened green eyes, reddened from crying, met Tony's as Loki lifted his head. But after a moment, he sank back down onto the pillow again, as thought he did not have the strength to even hold his head up. He closed his eyes, his face drawing into a wince as a violent bout of shivers racked him. Tony noticed that he was breathing too quickly, as though he had been running. He supposed it made sense-God only knew how long he'd been shivering like that. That had to be a better workout than spending that much time at the gym.

"Hey buddy, talk to me here. Tell me what feels bad." Tony laid a hand on the only exposed part of Loki's skin, which was his face, to try to get his attention, but drew it back in shock.

"Holy shit, you're freezing! What the hell-Bruce wasn't joking. Hey Loki, you with me?" _Damn, I must be getting concerned. I just called him by his actual name._ There was no response, and Tony felt his heart squeeze a little in fear. "Loki! Look, if you can hear me, I need you to tell me."

Loki whimpered suddenly, but Tony saw him nod against his pillow. "Help me," he sobbed softly, his voice muffled and trembling. Tony almost did a double take. Yeah, JARVIS had said that Loki had asked for help, but hearing the plea, so weak and pained, coming from the lips of the god of mischief himself, made the situation so much more real...and unnerving, but Tony pushed that part out of his mind. Bruce might not be any closer to finding the source of the weird illness, but right now that didn't matter. Loki needed help, _now._

"JARVIS, give me a readout on Loki's vitals."

**His respiratory rate is thirty-two breaths per minute, his heart rate is one hundred eighteen beats per minute, his systolic blood pressure is one hundred forty millimeters of mercury, his diastolic blood pressure is ninety millimeters of mercury, and his temperature is ninety-three point eight degrees Farenheit.**

"Ninety-three point eight? Holy cow. No wonder you're shivering. And everything else is too high..." _Shit. Oh, shit. Is he going into shock? No wait, shock is low blood pressure. But still, this is definitely not good._

But then Tony saw Loki blink, trying to clear the tears from his eyes to focus on Tony's face before him, and he realized that he seemed to be becoming a little more lucid. But he was still breathing much too hard, and that was what needed the most immediate addressing.

Tony got his face into Loki's again. "Hey Loki, look at me."

And amazingly, Loki did, with eyes that were wide with fear. There was no trace of mockery or hatred in those eyes, only fear and pain. It was as though someone had taken the god of mischief out and just left a shell in his place. Tony tried to shake off the unnerving thought and persevered.

"You look like you're having some trouble breathing. Is that what you need help with?"

Loki nodded against the pillow again.

"Okay. I'm going to help you sit up. That'll make it easier for you to breathe. You can lean back against the pillows, and you can still have all your blankets. Okay?"

Another nod. There was no resistance, no fight at all.

Loki whimpered in that same, pathetic way as Tony slid his hands beneath his arms and pulled him upright, but he made no move to stop him. It was nearly all through Tony's power that Loki managed to maneuver into an upright position, and Tony quickly recovered his shaking body with the blankets.

"There. Now just sit for a few minutes. JARVIS, tell Bruce to come in here."

**Sir, Dr. Banner is in the shower, listening to Beethoven's Fifth Symphony at full volume on a stereo that is not controlled by my domain. I cannot get his attention.**

"Great, I'll have to go and get him myself. Seriously, he's up this early voluntarily? Whatever. Okay Loki, I'm gonna go get Bruce. You'll be okay here by yourself for just a few minutes, right?"

Loki sniffled but nodded, looking weary but simultaneously frightened.

"'Kay. You hang in there." Tony made for the door, but before he could exit the room, Loki's faltering voice gave him cause to turn back around.

"Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"I...I don't know if he'd want to see me, after...after everything I've said and done to him, but...c...could you ask my brother to come here as well?"

The question was asked so plaintively and humbly that Tony wasn't sure whether to be more shocked at the tone or the content.

"You want Thor to come in here?"

Loki nodded, tears sliding down his face. "P...please."

_Oh my God, he said "please". Something is definitely seriously wrong._

"Yeah...okay. Sure, no problem. Just hang tight."

Loki's only response was to close his eyes. It was almost as though he were praying for strength, although Tony knew that couldn't be true. Who would a god pray to? Better not to think about those kinds of philosophical things right now. He had work to do, and he had to do it fast.

Thor's room was right down the hall from Loki's. Tony rapped on the door, and when there was no response, he knocked harder. _Come on, you giant slumbering grizzly bear, wake up!_ He practically threw his entire weight against the door, but still to no avail. _Ow, that actually hurt. Better to do that kind of thing with the suit on. Now what?_

And then he remembered. _Duh, Tony. You have the power to override the system. You wrote the program._

"JARVIS, unlock Thor's bedroom door."

**Sir, are you sure you want**...

"YES, JARVIS! We're kind of on a tight schedule here."

He heard the lock click without further comment from the AI.

"Thank you."

Tony pushed open the door to reveal the god of thunder spread out over the entirety of his king-sized bed, snoring like an over-sized English Bulldog. A little hesitantly, Tony approached him, reached out, and shook his shoulder.

"Thor. Hey, Thor. Point Break. Buddy, you gotta wake up."

More snores. _Holy freaking son of a monkey's uncle. I really don't think this is doable._

"THOR!" Tony roared at the top of his lungs. "THOR, WAKE UP! LOKI IS..."

"Loki!" Thor suddenly started awake, shooting up into a sitting position before Tony even had time to register that he had finally been successful. The billionaire uttered a startled yelp and jumped backward, slamming his thigh into the sharp corner of Thor's nightstand in the process.

"SONOFABITCH! Holy shit, that hurt!" Tony turned to examine himself, feeling for certain that he would see crimson blood blossoming through his robe. Fortunately, he saw no such thing, but the hard wood would undoubtedly leave a colorful bruise. _This is what I get for trying to be helpful. I should really just roll in piles of money all day long. It's much safer._

Thor completely ignored Tony's cry of pain and cursing.

"Stark, what of Loki?"

_I'm fine, thanks,_ thought Tony. He almost voiced his thoughts aloud, but then he pictured Loki in his mind, teary-eyed and trembly and breathing much too quickly. Suddenly his pain seemed insignificant. _Wow Tony, look at how selfless you're being. You deserve a cookie. Dammit, focus._

"He's asking for you."

"What?" Thor blinked disbelievingly, but he could not suppress the look of hope that was growing on his face, as though he dared not believe Tony's words.

"I was just in there with him. Thor...he's not doing well at all. His temp's ninety-three eight, and I'd call that hypothermia. I'm on my way to go get Bruce right now, but you have to go to Loki. He's asking for his brother."

"Stark." Thor's fingers were suddenly clenched around Tony's arm. He was losing feeling in his left hand. Thor's eyes were like blue fire staring into his, threatening and wild and dangerous. "Was _that_ the word he used?"

Tony didn't need to clarify which word Thor was referring to. "Yeah. It was."

Releasing Tony's arm, Thor suddenly sprang from the bed at about Warp Nine. Tony had just enough time to jump sideways to avoid being trampled, this time thankfully managing to avoid smashing into anything solid. He stared at the doorway from which Thor had exited so hastily.

_I really should stop dealing with gods,_ he thought, rubbing his arm where it was growing red from Thor's iron grasp. _It involves waaaay too many bruises._


	14. Chapter 14

**Have a giant chapter, loyal readers! :) This is another of my personal favorite chapters. Lots of angst and h/c. Enjoy!**

Thor had never been one for thinking in the heat of the moment. In battle, he strategized beforehand, but when the roar of warriors and the clang of metal upon metal surrounded him, he nearly always turned to instinct, letting his adrenaline-and sometimes his heart-guide him. Loki had always been the thinker, the one to listen to his head, to speak sense. Never Thor.

And as he tore down the hallway toward Loki's chamber, he was no different. A million thoughts _were_ running through his head, yes-but they were disjointed, and every single one of them was a product of his heart.

_Loki asked for me? Stark said his illness has become more serious. Has he forgiven me for my foolish, hurtful words? Perhaps he is delirious, and does not truly wish to see me after all. But he used the word 'brother'. Brother..._

Thor reached the door to Loki's room and, despite the turmoil and worry in his heart, he did not hesitate to fling it open. Right now, it mattered not if Loki had forgiven him, or even if he still hated him as passionately as he had before his punishment. All that mattered right now was that his little brother _needed_ him.

But when Thor stepped into the room, he _did_ hesitate. He had not laid eyes on Loki for nearly five days, not since those horrible words had slipped from his mouth and Loki had rightfully thrown him out of his chamber. His brother had been ill then, there had been no question. But Thor was shocked at how much worse he looked now. There were no pink spots on his high cheekbones this time-Loki was as white as the bleak winter of Jotunheim. And he was shivering like he was in that cursed realm. N_o, not cursed, Loki was born there, that his a horrible thing to think, Thor. _That _cold_ realm. Except Loki had never seemed to feel the cold the few times they had travelled to the realm of the Frost Giants. _Jotun. Loki is not a monster. He is my little brother. My poor little brother. How could I have abandoned you when it should have been obvious how much you needed me?_ Loki's pallid face was barely visible beneath his pile of blankets, but enough of his head poked out that Thor could see his eyes were closed. _He cannot be sleeping. Unless his condition has driven him into unconsciousness._

Thor swallowed, not having realized how bone-dry his throat had become.

"Loki." He had meant to sound reassuring and strong, for it was so obvious that those were the things Loki needed, but to his horror his voice sounded hoarse and cracked, like it had when he was growing from a boy into a man.

His brother's eyes opened immediately, and suddenly Thor was staring into eyes he had not seen for a long time. They were not the eyes that he had seen as they stood on the Bifrost, Loki screaming at him to fight him, or when they had battled on top of the tower-they held not the madness that had clung to his brother so steadfastly during those times. Nor were they the eyes so full of pain and defeat that he had gazed into for what he had feared would be the last time as Loki held on to Gungnir, dangling over the doorway to the world of darkness. There _was_ pain now, yes-pain in multitudes, and rightly so. But there was also a plea for help there, and a touch of relief, two things which would not have been visible had Loki given up as he had in that horrible moment as they both clung to Odin's spear.

No, these were the eyes that had looked at Thor so many times, often from below the level of his bed, silently asking permission to climb beneath the covers with him and have the memories of his nightmares chased away. They were the eyes that pleaded with him to take away the misery of frequent childhood illness, and then, despite how powerless Thor had felt during those times, regarded him with such gratefulness for his companionship, even if all he could do was sit at his brother's bedside and bathe his forehead.

There was _love_ in those eyes, a desperate love, but more importantly, an honest one. For although Thor knew better than anyone that anything about the god of mischief was rarely as it seemed, in that moment, something was different. In that moment, Thor knew for an indisputable fact that the brother he had lost and had been searching for so long and hard had finally returned to him. He was broken and battered and dangerously ill, but this was _his_ Loki.

Tears ran down Loki's cheeks and onto the blankets, and when he tried to draw a breath, it came out more as a sob.

"Thor." It was only one word, and it was uttered in the most heart-wrenching whimper Thor had ever heard. But suddenly Loki was trying to scramble his way out of the blankets. Thor hurried to his side and, sitting on the bed next to him, caught Loki in his arms just as he managed to dislodge himself from his cocoon. Loki clung to him desperately, shaking violently and sobbing into his nightshirt. Thor wrapped his arms around him, wincing at the coldness of his brother's skin, caught between relief and fear and worry and trying to figure out what to say.

"I'm sorry." Loki beat him to speaking, his voice broken by his inconsolable, body-wrenching sobs. "I'm s...so sorry, Thor. I can't...I can't do it anymore. I can't..."

"What can you not do?" Thor asked softly. He tried to pull Loki back so that he could look into his eyes, but Loki held on all the tighter, digging his fingers into Thor's back. It hurt, but Thor did not so much as flinch. If Loki needed to hold onto him, then by the Norns, Thor would let him.

"The hatred," Loki choked out, and Thor froze. But Loki kept talking, nearly hysterical in his weeping. "I can't...I can't hate you anymore. I hated you for being the t...true son while I was a monster, and for having all the g...glory while I was always in the shadows. I was mad, c...c...completely mad, f...first with betrayal and then b...because those monsters..." Loki gasped, his lamentations depriving him of air. Thor tried to hush him, but Loki ignored him, determined to get out what he needed to say. "I genuinely hated you a...and that's why I tried to kill you all of those times. B...but then, after the n...nightmares, you...you were so kind to me, and...and I m...made myself keep hating you b...because I didn't...didn't want you to have to know the horrors...You didn't...didn't deserve to go through what I have been."

Thor's eyes widened at the admission, and he felt his fingers tighten into Loki's arms. Loki whimpered and Thor quickly released his grasp, rubbing circles into his brother's back instead. Ever since his punishment, Loki had only been so cold toward him because he was trying to _protect_ him. Loki, protecting _him._ That wasn't right-Thor was _Loki's_ protector, not the other way around. It was all so confusing, and yet Thor felt his heart swell with joy all the same. For somewhere beneath the acidic manner and the glares and the cold ignoring and the angry retorts, Loki had still cared for him. Thor's hopes had not been in vain.

"But I _can't_ hate you anymore." Loki's voice was barely a whisper now. "It is so...so exhausting. And I am _so_ weary." He drew a shuddering breath. "And I'm sorry. Oh Thor, I'm so sorry for everything."

The warmth of Loki's tears, fresh and even more freely flowing than they had been before, soaking through Thor's shirt and onto his chest contrasted sharply with the cold of his brother's cheek against his hand as he stroked it.

"You have my forgiveness, brother. You always have. But I must make my own apology. Can you forgive me for my blindness and stupidity? For not seeing how you were neglected all those years, and for not being by your side when you were told of your true heritage and your world was turned wrongside-up? And that horrible, insensitive thing that I said a few days ago..." Thor shook his head, completely disgusted at himself. "I meant those words with the utmost love, Loki, but I was stupid not to think them through before I spoke them. I should have known they would strike you in a tender area, and with good reason. I am sorry, my dear. I have failed you as a brother."

"No!" The protest was surprisingly strong, and Loki suddenly pulled back from where he had been clinging so tightly to Thor to finally look his brother in the eyes. "You haven't. It is I who have failed. While I wreaked h...havoc upon a realm you loved, you never stopped caring for me. And I _know_ you did not mean..." He broke off, his tears once again overcoming his ability to speak. Thor pulled him close again, this time so that the side of Loki's face was pressed up against his chest, and wrapped both of his arms around Loki's slight, trembling frame so that their position was less of a mutual embrace and more of one brother protecting another, as Thor had been longing to do for so long now. Loki leaned into his touch, obviously glad for the warmth it provided his tortured body, and grasped Thor's forearm with both hands. Then he half-whispered and half-sobbed the words that Thor had so yearned for, yet had so many times feared he might never hear again.

"I love you, brother."

_Brother._ Thor felt tears of his own begin to push their way from his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks and came to rest in Loki's mussed black hair, shining on the unwashed strands like raindrops.

"And I love you, my sweet Loki."

Loki had called him _brother._ Blood ties mattered not-they were family, and Loki had finally acknowledged that. He wanted Thor to be a part of his life again. By all rights, it should have been the happiest moment of Thor's life.

And for a moment, it was. But then he suddenly became aware of how badly his little brother was shaking, and not just from his copious tears. Loki had discarded his blankets when he had launched himself into Thor's arms, and now his only connection to warmth was Thor's own body heat. Thor suddenly remembered what Stark had said about hypothermia. Thor had not known what that word meant the first time Banner had used it, but the doctor had explained that it meant Loki's body temperature was low to the point of being dangerous. Thor mentally kicked himself for allowing Loki to remove his coverings in the first place. He had been so overcome with emotion that he had not stopped to realize just how close he might be to losing the brother he had just gotten back.

No. Thor would _not_ let that happen. Placing a quick kiss in Loki's hair, Thor reached for one of the blankets and, trying to jostle his brother as little as possible, wrapped it around both of their bodies so that it would retain both Loki's body heat and his own. After he had repeated the action with one more blanket, he gently freed his other hand from Loki's grasp and began to rub his brother's arms vigorously, but not too harshly. All the same, Loki looked confusedly at him and squirmed, trying to press himself toward Thor's warm body and away from his active hands.

"You are much too cold, my love," Thor murmured. Loki's staunch refusal to accept any of Thor's comfort and protection as of late caused the thunder god to worry for a moment about his brother's reaction to the term of endearment. But much to his relief and happiness, he felt Loki settle down at the sound of it. His shivers persisted, but his attempts to escape Thor's ministrations ceased.

Thor spent the next few minutes rubbing Loki's arms and torso, hoping that perhaps his brother might retain at least a bit of warmth from his efforts. All the while, he reassured Loki over and over again that everything was going to be all right, that he, Thor, was there now, and he would not let anything happen to him, and he would not leave his side, and he would do whatever it took to get him well. Loki did not speak at all. He just closed his eyes and surrendered himself to being tended to.

Soon, Banner, his hair still wet from his shower, burst through the door, Stark on his heels. The doctor held his medical bag and an armful of towels, while Stark carried a cardboard box lined with another towel, whose contents Thor could not discern from his position on the bed.

"See, I got him." Was all Stark said, addressing both of the brothers and pointing his index finger at Banner. Thor afforded the haggard-looking billionaire a half-smile for his efforts. The man really did try very hard.

Banner did not even respond to the fact that Loki, who the previous day had vehemently hated Thor, now lay curled up in his brother's arms, and jumped immediately into action. He had the JARVIS, the bodiless voice, inform him of Loki's pulse, breathing rate, blood pressure, and temperature. The final value had risen marginally-it was now ninety-four point one degrees Fahrenheit. Thor, like Loki, really did not understand what the numbers meant. He could only compare them to other numbers JARVIS spoke at other times. But now Thor thought that perhaps his vigorous rubbing had helped to raise Loki's body temperature at least a little bit.

But Banner seemed more interested in Loki's breathing than his temperature, the former value having been stated by JARVIS as too erratic to be detectable. He stood next to the bed and squatted down so that he could look Loki in the eyes.

"Hey," he said softly, and Loki turned his hesitant gaze upon him. "I know you're probably more comfy in there, but I'm going to need you to unwrap from Thor for just a couple of minutes."

Loki emitted a whimper of protest and pressed closer to Thor, who shushed him and rubbed his back beneath the blankets.

"It'll be okay," said Banner soothingly, already unraveling the covers from around the two brothers. "Thor will be right here. I just need to listen to your breathing. Tony said you were having some trouble earlier. Can you sit back against the pillows, like you did before? There, that's it." The doctor and Thor helped Loki maneuver into the correct position. Loki's shivers grew even more violent without the comfort of the blankets or his brother's body heat, and he reached desperately for Thor, who took his hand and ran his thumb over the thin, pale knuckles. Banner reached the cold metal end of the stethoscope beneath Loki's nightshirt, and Loki whimpered as it made contact with the skin of his back.

"Does it hurt?" asked Banner softly, and Loki nodded with a sniffle, his chest shuddering as he continued to sob.

Banner spent several minutes trying to listen for any abnormalities in Loki's breathing pattern, but as much as Thor tried to soothe him, Loki refused to stop weeping. Thor guessed that a bit of his brother's intensely emotional state was caused by their heartfelt reconciliation, but he knew that most of it stemmed from the fact that Loki was feeling miserable and terrified. He could see the fear alight in his brother's eyes as Loki clutched at his hand for dear life. The truth of Banner and Stark still not being able to distinguish the cause of his illness and its rapid worsening was making Loki fear for his very existence, and the fact that he was probably at least a little delirious was making everything seem all that much worse. Thor did everything he could think of to calm him, from telling him that all would be well soon to stroking his hair to singing softly to him in their native language, but nothing seemed to work. Loki's erratic gasps disguised anything that might have provided Banner with the information he sought. Finally, the doctor shook his head with a sigh and removed the stethoscope from Loki's chest.

"Your breathing isn't normal for long enough for me to get a rate. I'm just going to have to assume that it was just a result of hypothermia and stress."

"I'm s...sorry," choked Loki, sounding humble and pitiful. He hunched over, making himself look as small and submissive as possible, his delirious mind no doubt picturing the kindly doctor morphing into the beast that had hurt him so badly not long ago.

"No, it's okay," said Banner gently. "You've gotta be feeling pretty miserable, and you've had a rough past few days. I don't blame you for needing to let it out. It doesn't hurt to breathe, does it?"

Loki sniffed and shook his head. "N...no. It only h...hurt my skin when you p...put the cold circle on it."

"Like last time?"

Loki nodded.

"Hyperesthesia," said Banner as he turned to Stark, who was regarding him with an inquiring look. "My guess is from the hypothermia and the anemia. But we'll worry about that later. We need to get him warm. Now."

"I'm on it," said Stark. He turned and removed from the cardboard box a transparent bag filled with clear fluid, which he quickly proceeded to wrap in a towel. He then repeated the action with two more bags. Meanwhile, Banner inquired of Loki,

"Which position is it most comfortable for you to lie in?"

Loki was curled back up in Thor's arms almost before Thor realized what was happening. For someone who seemed so weak, it was surprising how quickly Loki was able to attach himself to him, as though they were magnetized to one another. Thor could feel his brother's fingers digging into him again, as though he was afraid he might suddenly vanish and was desperately attempting to keep his older brother there with him. Thor pressed Loki close to him, silently letting him know that he need not fear abandonment.

Banner furrowed his brow. "Okay, that's not quite going to work for what we need." He looked a little startled at Loki's sudden look of sheer terror, and Thor began to lose feeling in his arm as his brother gripped him even harder.

"Banner, please allow me to continue holding him," said Thor softly and reasonably. "It makes him feel warmer and safer."

"Yeah," said Banner softly, deep in thought. "Okay, I've got it. Thor, you lean back against the pillows next to Loki and let him rest his body against you. Yeah, just like that. Okay, Tony." Banner turned toward Stark, but the efficient genius was already holding out the bag wrapped in a towel. "Thanks," said Bruce, accepting it. Stark grinned.

"What is that?" Thor felt more confused by the Midgardians' strange way of doing things than ever.

Stark explained. "We found a huge box of Lactated Ringer's solution in my goldmine of a medical supply room, and we heated them up in the microwave so they're like hot water bottles. I told JARVIS to heat up more every ten minutes, so we can keep switching them out as they cool off."

Banner was already placing the first two bags in the crook of Loki's underarms, beneath his shirt, and Thor saw his brother close his eyes in blissful relief. Then Banner held the final wrapped parcel out to Loki.

"I'll let you do this one yourself. It goes on your groin. Really sensitive areas like that absorb heat and distribute it throughout the body the quickest. We'll go now, but I'll be back in about ten minutes with more bags. Thor, you two can wrap back up like you were before. That was good thinking."

Thor only nodded in response, his attention focused on his brother. When the door had closed behind the two men, Loki, his pale cheeks flushing a bit with embarrassment, positioned the towel-wrapped bottle beneath his pants. Then Thor wrapped them both in blankets, and he felt Loki nestle against him and sigh softly. It was not a contented sigh by any means, but nor did it hold any qualities of inherent discontent. It was more of a tired sigh, as though Loki had desperately been hoping for the doctor and Stark to leave so that he could rest in Thor's arms again. It made Thor smile despite the gravity of the situation, and when he leaned down to plant a soft kiss in Loki's hair, he felt his brother's hand shoot out to grab his own and hold it tightly.

"It is all right," whispered Thor, pressing back. "I am here now, brother-mine, and we will get through this together. All will be well soon."

Loki closed his eyes, and finally his jerky breathing evened out as his sobs quieted. Thor did not know how much of what he had just said either of them believed-he was an awful liar and was not even fooling himself, let alone the astute Loki. But just now they _had_ to believe, or risk falling into despair. And Thor knew that he could not do that-he needed to be strong for Loki. Because finally, _finally_, he was allowed to be his brother's protector again. And he was going to make every moment count.

_~~~The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~_

Bruce spent the entire morning running back and forth from Loki's bedroom to the kitchenette where JARVIS's mechanical implements were continually feeding bags of Lactated Ringer's into the microwave, and back again. He could have allowed the AI to deliver the bags for him, he knew, and in all reality, he _should_ have been sitting down, trying to puzzle out exactly what was ailing the god of mischief. But after seeing just how desperately ill Loki had become, he had become frustrated at his lack of ability to produce an answer, and he knew that if he tried to think about it right now, that frustration would only mount and mount until it drove him insane-or drove the Other Guy out of him, fighting and roaring. And that was the last thing any of them needed right now.

So he opted for the physical activity instead, continually monitoring Loki's vitals and checking to make sure he did not become too lethargic or confused. Loki had finally stopped crying, and JARVIS was able to pronounce his respiratory rate as normal. His heartbeat and blood pressure remained slightly elevated throughout the morning, but neither to the point of being worrisome. His body temperature, of course, provided more than enough cause for worry. That stayed frighteningly low for hours. Bruce would ask Loki questions every hour or so, just ensure that he was still mentally sound-or at least, as mentally sound as he normally was. Loki seemed weak and very sensitive emotionally, but he knew where he was and what was happening, and he did not appear to be overly sleepy. He stayed positioned exactly how Bruce had left him, leaning up against his brother, with Thor's arms wrapped protectively around his torso, the blankets surrounding them both. Bruce had to hand it to Thor-he had to be roasting, but not once did he complain or even show any sign of discomfort. He just remained with his entire attention focused on his brother. He acknowledged Bruce when he spoke with Loki, but even then he remained mostly attentive to how Loki responded to the questions, both verbally and nonverbally. Loki seemed nervous whenever Bruce was in the room, and he could see the younger god pressing back into his brother's protective embrace whenever Bruce addressed him. He guessed that the abnormal body temperature was affecting Loki's mind in ways that his simple questions could not assess-it wasn't surprising that his delicate emotions had been the first thing to suffer. And it wasn't like he didn't have any terrifying memories of Bruce to keep him on his toes.

Finally, at just a little past noon, JARVIS informed Bruce that Loki's body temperature was beginning to rise at an appreciable rate. Bruce crossed his fingers that it wouldn't shoot past normal, and thankfully, it didn't. By one-thirty, Loki's internal functions were operating at a pristine ninety-eight point six degrees Fahrenheit. When Bruce went to check on him, he found his patient fast asleep in Thor's arms. With the utmost care, Bruce unwrapped the pair from their blankets-for which Thor seemed very grateful-and then the two of them lowered Loki into a lying position, covering him with just his normal bedding implements. Thor, after taking a quick shower while Bruce watched over Loki, then proceeded to crawl under the blankets and lie next to his brother, throwing one vigilant arm over Loki's thin body and falling asleep himself.

Suddenly finding himself without a hypothermic patient to keep him busy, Bruce realized that he was not really sure what to do next. His stomach growled. It was well into the afternoon, and he hadn't eaten a thing all day. He made himself a ham and cheese sandwich, and then took it, some chips, an apple, and an entire pot of coffee up to the medical lab.

Tony was no where to be found, which was alright with Bruce. After the rush of the morning, he needed some time alone to think. He ate his lunch without really tasting it, his sharp mind working a thousand miles a minute. What was he missing? One of Tony's favorite expressions was "I can't do the equation if I don't have all the variables". Bruce was missing a variable. He'd run every diagnostic test he could think of on Loki. He wasn't fighting an infection. His blood-hormone levels were normal, which eliminated the possibility of a problem with his hypothalamus, which was the temperature regulation center for the body. His blood sugar levels were steady, despite the fact that he ate like an overly finicky bird, so the chills weren't related to hypoglycemia, and that wouldn't have explained his fevers, anyway. So that left Bruce back at square one.

So what was he supposed to do now? That was a question for the ages. What do you do when you've tried literally everything you can think of?

_Think of more things to try,_ his logical mind teased ironically, but he silenced the voice with a frustrated inner growl. This was no time for wit. If he wanted that, he'd call in Tony. No, he just had to keep widening his search, despite the fact that at the moment said search seemed to be stretched to the breaking point. He wondered bitterly if this was the real reason he had quit medical school. Maybe his passion for nuclear physics had just been a cover-up, and he had really just _given up_ because he didn't want to have to deal with the pressure that was involved with being a medical doctor. His scientific way of thinking, the classic hypothetico-deductive method that had been drilled into him since the sixth grade, held fast in both careers, certainly, but it was the subject matter that was so different. In physics, he could just hole up in his lab and do his research and not worry about anybody else. If a hypothesis didn't pan out, he could tweak it if he wanted, or he could just scrap it and move on. But with medicine, with people's lives in his hands...well, that was vastly different. His patients depended on him, and he only had a limited amount of time to make his deductions. And the stakes were so much higher.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his throbbing temples. Too much pressure, indeed.

He pulled out the printouts of Loki's bloodwork from both the first and second samples and looked over them again. It had to be the fiftieth time, and he knew he wouldn't find anything different, but his scientist's mind pushed him to look one more time. He examined every value and every range, considering every disease or syndrome or disorder he could think of associated with with every parameter printed on the paper, but he could come up with nothing he had not thought of before. Of course he couldn't-it wasn't like he hadn't tried countless times already. Had he really expected the answer to just magically appear?

Suddenly feeling his constantly suppressed reservoir of anger surge to the surface of his mind, Bruce balled up the printouts and threw them as hard as he could so that they bounced off of the opposite wall of the laboratory and landed on the tiled floor with an unsatisfying near-silence. He clenched his fists so hard that his fingernails dug into his palms and then realized with alarm that his knuckles were ever-so-slightly green. Desperately, he squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his nails even further into the soft flesh of his hands, trying to concentrate on the pain rather than his anger. _Think about the pain, Bruce. Nothing else. Just concentrate on the physical pain._

After about half a minute, he heard someone enter the lab with hurried footsteps, and when he opened his eyes, Tony was standing over him, concern filling his chocolate-colored eyes. _Not concern for me,_ that voice inside Bruce's head snarled bitterly. _Concern for his lab, for his tower, for his things. They matter more to him than what this will do to me._

_No, that's not it,_ another voice fought back desperately. _He knows how badly I need to control it. If I lose that control now, when it's been going so well, it's gonna destroy me. Oh, God. And he knows it. He knows that._

_You think Tony Stark cares about you, a destitute, washed-up med school dropout who has the power to snap his neck and destroy all his assets with the squeeze of a fist? You really think that, Banner?_

"Bruce." Tony's voice was as quiet as the hand he laid on Bruce's arm, but the fear in it was evident. "Hey buddy, it's gonna be okay. Just step back for a second, take a break. You're okay. Just relax."

Bruce turned on him with a dangerous snarl. "Step back? Relax? That's all everybody ever says to me! You really think that's how it works? You act like you understand but you _don't_!"

Tony threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay then, don't relax. Dive right in. Whatever works for you." Bruce growled at him, and to his horror, he realized that his voice was becoming deeper. _No. Nonononono. Oh God, please no._

But Tony, as ever, was still talking. "Look, I'm sorry if there was some kind of misunderstanding. I _don't_ understand, and I won't pretend to. I don't know what it's like to have to live every day with the fear that you're accidentally going to kill someone you care about just because something makes you mad. And I don't know how you control it-you know how many times I've tried to guess and struck out! But I know that _you_ do, and you've gotta call on that now. Come on, Bruce. You can control it now, remember? He comes out only when you want him to, and right now we don't need him. Right now, we need Bruce Banner."

_Need_. _Need Bruce._ It had been a long time since Bruce had felt needed. Somebody always needed the Other Guy for something-they needed to turn him into a lab animal or a weapon, or they needed him dead. But it was a rare thing for Bruce to hear that _he_ was needed. It felt...good. And Tony was right. They _did_ need Bruce right now. A calm Bruce who was thinking clearly and not giving up just because he'd hit a roadblock. Loki needed a doctor to give him hope of recovery, and Thor needed him to find the answer so that he could have the reconciliation with his little brother he deserved. And Tony...all Tony needed was for Bruce to see that he could control the monster inside of him. Tony, who was looking at him with those concerned yet encouraging eyes, wasn't worried about his tower or his possessions. He was only worried about one thing in that moment. Bruce.

And somehow, that was enough. Bruce closed his eyes and breathed deeply for several minutes. Tony chattered constantly, nervously, about anything and everything-from their plans for rebuilding the city to what they should have JARVIS make for dinner. Finally, Bruce opened his eyes. He looked first at his hands, and saw that every last trace of green had vanished. Then he looked at Tony, who suddenly silenced. He wasn't even trying to conceal the pride in his eyes.

"You," whispered Bruce in awe. His voice no longer displayed the threateningly deep register, and cracked a little in his amazement. "You talked him down. No one's ever been able to talk him down before. Once it starts, it's always been a one-way trip."

"No." Tony shook his head, one corner of his mouth tugging upward. "I didn't say anything to _him._ All I did was make you realize what _you_ needed to talk him down. You did all the work, buddy. It was all you."

Bruce smiled at him for a brief moment before turning his gaze down to the table in front of him. He knew he was still beaming from ear to ear, and that Tony could still see. But that was okay, because in that moment, shy, awkward, nervous Bruce Banner felt invincible-invincible on his own, without the Other Guy. He knew it wouldn't last, that there would be other incidents and other triggers to worry about. But he would deal with those when they came, and enjoy this moment while he had it.

"You good?" Tony's question interrupted his thoughts. "Ready to get on with this?"

_Right. Need Bruce._ "Yeah. I'm good." And he was, really.

"Okay." Tony heaved himself up onto one of the testing counters and sat on it, legs dangling about a foot and a half from the floor. He looked like a little kid in a chair too tall for him. "While you were taking care of the Godsicle, I was trying to figure out why JARVIS didn't alert you when Loki's temperature first started dropping to dangerous levels. Turns out I calibrated it wrong. Apparently even the incredible mind of Tony Stark sometimes slips up when it counts, huh?" Tony looked sheepish and embarrassed, watching his feet twirling above the ground rather than looking at Bruce. He looked more than ever like a child who had broken something and was awaiting punishment. It was a little bit amusing.

"It's okay, it happens. We're all under a lot of pressure right now. Did you fix it?"

"Yep!" Tony perked up. "And I added an alternative parameter. Now it will alert you, no matter where you are in the tower, if Frosty's temp is two degrees above or below normal, like it was supposed to before, _and_ if the absolute value of the slope of his time-versus-temperature curve is within a specific range of concern." He grinned in silent yet obvious self-laudation, but Bruce could tell that he was thoroughly enjoying being able to talk to someone without having to dumb things down. And he had to agree that he felt the same way.

"So if his temperature's changing too rapidly, JARVIS will let me know?"

"Yep. And if you don't respond within five minutes, I get called in. That was how you wanted it, right?"

Bruce nodded. "Yeah. I figure if Loki's going to be my patient, I'm going to jump on this train at full speed. He's got trust issues that only someone who's been hurt for a millennium could have, so he needs to see that I'm going to be there for him every time he needs me, and that I'm not going to let him down. This will go a lot smoother if he trusts me fully..." Bruce trailed off and sighed. "Except he'd be foolish to trust me, because I've been working at this for days and I still have absolutely no idea what's making him sick."

"I think he trusts you more than you know," said Tony offhandedly, shrugging and taking a bite of a Snickers bar that he seemed to produce from thin air.

Bruce snorted softly. "I wouldn't be so sure. Do you know what he told me when I asked him about what the Other Guy did to him that day? He said he broke _all_ of his ribs. I wouldn't blame him if he didn't trust me a lick."

"And yet he does." Tony's voice was muffled by a mouth full of chocolate, caramel, and peanuts, but he finished chewing and swallowed before speaking again. "I mean, I guess he felt like he had to trust somebody, and there was really no one else. I mean, he was actively trying to hate Thor as much as possible, and I think I maybe kind of...get under his skin a little."

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle. "A little?"

Tony just shrugged and took another bite of his candy bar, but Bruce noticed the grin tugging at his mouth.

"Anyway, speaking of Thor, are they..._okay_ now? I mean..." Bruce gestured uselessly downward and to the left, the general direction of where the brothers currently slept. "What happened?"

Tony actually thought before he spoke that time, an incredibly rare occurrence for him.

"You know, I'm not entirely sure. JARVIS woke me up and told me Loki was asking for help, but it turned out he was _begging_ for help. I mean, you saw him-he was practically delirious." He paused and looked to Bruce for affirmation, and Bruce nodded. "And then he told me to go get his brother. And I should note, he actually used the word 'brother'. He seemed apologetic toward Thor, which I thought was weird. And I don't know what when on between them while I was waiting for you to get out of the shower. But...he said '_please'_." Tony furrowed his brow. "Whoa. Do you think we actually _fixed_ Reindeer Games?"

"'Fixed' might be a little strong of a word," said Bruce as he traced a scratch in the countertop with his finger. "I mean, he's got issues that are going to take years to work out. Some of them may never go away."

Bruce looked up and thought he saw a covert sadness cloud Tony's eyes for a moment, and he bit his lip, regretting the words leaving his mouth. _Quick, think of something to say to make it not so bad._

"But if he really has made up with Thor, then maybe it won't be quite so bad." _Nope, still not good. We all know how much Tony loves sharing his problems with other people. Why am I so bad at this whole talking thing? Oh yeah. Perpetually socially awkward._ "Uh...sorry."

Tony shrugged. "It's cool." Bruce was pretty sure it actually wasn't, but Tony kept on talking, turning his attention away from his unfortunate slip-ups. "You know, if we have actually...made the supervillian _not_ a supervillian, then does that make us the best superheroes ever or _what_?"

"You're pretty stuck on the whole superhero thing, aren't you?" Bruce couldn't suppress a grin.

"Hey, I dare you to say truthfully that you never wanted to be a superhero at some point during your childhood."

Bruce fondly recalled the comic book collection he had treasured as a little boy-how when it was long past his bedtime, he would still be curled up beneath his blankets with a flashlight, dreaming of the day he would be big and strong enough to stand up to his father when he was hitting his mother. Bruce had never wanted to save the world. He'd only wanted to help people, especially those close to him.

"You're right. I guess I couldn't."


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey, everyone! You're getting this chapter about half a day early this week! My family is taking another trip (yeah, we travel a lot, see my username for Exhibit A). We leave Wednesday afternoon and will get back late Tuesday night. Internet access will be sporadic at best, so I'm not going to try to post any chapters during the trip. I apologize for this disruption in service, but I will try to make it up to you. So, you're getting Chapter 15 tonight, Chapter 16 early Wednesday morning, Chapter 17 early NEXT Wednesday morning, and service will resume as normal with Chapter 18 NEXT Friday. Again, sorry for the interruption-I feel bad doing this to you guys because you are all such loyal readers! I appreciate your understanding and continued support.**

**With that said, there are a couple of things I would like to note about tonight's chapter. The first is that there is an oblique reference to my shortfic "Calmed By The Storm". You don't need to have read it to understand anything, but it does connect. Consider it "supplemental reading", if you will. ;) The second thing is that I would like to remind everyone that this fic was not written with the intention of being slashy in any way. There are a couple of Thor and Loki moments in this chapter that might imply otherwise to some people, so I just wanted to reiterate that point. :)**

**Okay, that's it for now! Enjoy! :)  
**

Thor thought he would have slept the day away. The opportunity to do so had been welcome-the solace of sleep had been incredibly elusive as of late due to his guilt over his argument with Loki and his worry because he could not check on his condition himself. But even in sleep, Thor's subconscious was acutely aware of just how ill the little brother lying next to him was, and he found himself waking every time Loki's breathing pattern changed. Despite the fact that he normally slept sounder than a rock, he found himself constantly on the edge of wakefulness, snapping across the threshold too many times to count when his brother made but the slightest noise or movement. Each time, he would lay his hand as gently as he could on Loki's forehead, attempting to judge if he felt too warm or too cold, and then adjust the blankets lovingly over him, making sure that he was thoroughly covered.

Mercifully, Loki slept for several hours, his temperature remaining normal. Although he was glad that his brother was able to take the opportunity to recover his strength after shivering with such force for hours, a dark inkling edged at Thor's mind, saying that that strength would only be spent again soon, fighting either fever or chill. But at least for the time being, Loki was at peace, even if it was only for a few short hours.

If only it could have lasted. It was dark when Thor awoke abruptly, noticing almost immediately that something was different. Loki's eyes remained closed, but he was far from peaceful. His breathing was rapid, as though he was running rather than lying in bed. As Thor watched, his body suddenly contorted in a writhing fashion, and he whimpered and cried out.

"No! No, please...please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll do anything, just say it is not the truth, please, no..." He broke off with a sob, and that was when Thor decided enough was enough. He shook Loki's shoulder roughly, trying to pull him out of whatever awful world he was trapped.

"Brother, wake up. It is only a nightmare."

Loki only whimpered miserably and tried to pull away, his eyes still closed.

"_Please_, no. _No!_"

"_Loki!_" Thor gave his brother's shoulder a particularly firm shake, and suddenly Loki's eyes shot open. For a moment, he seemed to still believe that he was within the grasp of his nightmare, for he uttered a strangled cry and tried to backpedal away from Thor.

"Loki." Thor lowered his voice, trying to pull his terrified brother back to reality. "It is all right, my love. It is I, Thor."

There was a sudden flicker of recognition in Loki's eyes, and he seemed to crumple into Thor's embrace as the thunder god pulled him into his arms. There he lay trembling and sobbing, his head buried in Thor's chest.

"All is well, my dear. It was only a dream. You are safe, I swear to you," Thor soothed, running his fingers through his brother's hair. The black locks were plastered with sweat to Loki's forehead, and as Thor rested his fingers on the pale cheek, he winced with the observation that it felt too warm. His brother was falling ill with another fever.

Loki hiccuped against his chest, his thin body shuddering. Thor shushed him almost automatically, rubbing slow circles into his back for several minutes. Finally, Loki's sobs quelled enough for Thor gently pull away from him enough to press his forehead against his brother's unnaturally warm one and whisper,

"Tell me."

It was the beginning of their ritual, although they had not observed it in several centuries. When they were children, Loki had been afflicted with terrifying nightmares, nearly always involving Frost Giants. It was as though somehow, perhaps through some special sense afforded him by his magic, Loki had known that there was some sort of connection between him and the creatures they had feared so much. When they were small, he would come into Thor's room by way of a door that always creaked but Thor refused to get oiled because he relied on it to wake him when his brother needed his comfort. Loki would climb into bed with Thor, press up next to him beneath the blankets, and weep his fears away. All the while, Thor would gently extract bits of whatever story his brother had to tell, and then reassure him that he was in no danger because he, Thor, promised to always be there to protect him.

Back then, making that promise had filled Thor with a deep sense of conviction, and he had never believed anything less than what he said. But now, after so sharp a wedge had been driven between them, Thor wondered how much it would take to get Loki to believe him again. Because Thor had failed to keep those promises he had made so long ago-he had not been there for Loki. He had been vain and stupid and filled with hubris, and as a consequence he had been nowhere near Asgard when Loki's world had come crashing down around his shoulders. Sometimes he wondered if things would have been different if he had been there to tell Loki that it did not matter in what realm he was born, or what he looked like in his natural form, or even if he was of a people whom they considered to be their enemy. If he had been there to hold him and tell him that no matter what happened, he would always be Thor's beloved little brother. But he supposed it did not really matter what would have happened, because things had not gone that way. And that, Thor thought with a pang of sorrow, was that.

In response to Thor's attempt to bring him comfort using their old routine, Loki just shook his head vigorously and then buried it once more in his brother's shirt, shivering harder. It was not the first time he had initially refused to speak of the contents of his nightmares, but in the past Thor would only have had to wait for him to summon up the courage to confront the horrible visions. Loki did not normally react so vehemently to the suggestion of discussing his dreams. Thor recalled Loki's words from earlier that day about not wanting Thor to have to experience the horrors of what he had been going through, and he wondered if that had something to do with Loki's rather violent commitment to reticence.

Thor was nothing if not determined, but he was not about to try to pry anything from Loki, newly recovered trust or not. His brother had never seemed more fragile, either physically or emotionally, than he did in that moment, even with a childhood that had been so often punctuated by illness. Thor would allow him all the time he needed for fear that he might somehow break if pushed too forcefully or too quickly. He waited until Loki had calmed a bit again before murmuring,

"I will not make you tell me anything, brother, nor will I deny you comfort if you choose not to confide in me. But you know that talking about your nightmares always helped you to relax and feel safe in the past. You do not have to face this alone, Loki. You know can tell me."

To his surprise, he heard his brother laugh then-a single hard bark that came out almost more of a sob-and then Loki pulled away from his grasp and regarded him with a mixture of amazement and sadness.

"Oh, Thor. Even though you have seen what Odin's fitting punishment has reduced me to, you still persist in believing that you can alleviate my burden by sharing it with me. A noble sentiment, I admit, but a foolish one. But then again, you are my brother, and you are as constant in your stubbornness as is the moon in changing the tides."

Minus the "brother" designation, Loki's words could have been nearly identical to something he might have said a week ago in Asgard as he lay in his chamber, bitterly forcing Thor as far away as possible instead of opening himself to his comforting embrace. But his tone, however, was quite different. These words were spoken with gratefulness and appreciation and a terrible regret, and Thor's heart warmed and ached simultaneously as he heard them. He gazed at his brother, who was curled up on his side less than a foot away from him, his eyes turned downward toward the bedsheets, not looking back at him. There was such sadness in those eyes, mingled with a kind of desperate yet actively repressed desire that Thor could only interpret as the want to divulge the contents of his nightmare that was restricted by his belief that it would bring him no peace, and harm Thor in the process. Loki was actually being quite selfless and caring, Thor realized.

His mind drifted back to all those times when, as a boy, he had become frustrated with the material he was required to learn from his tutors. Thor would have much rather spent all of every day in the training ring, but as a prince, his education had needed to be thorough in all respects. But the simple fact had been that Thor was just never very good at academics. He was far from stupid-there were just things he would rather have been doing, and as a consequence, he had often allowed his mind to wander during lessons. More times than he cared to remember, he had fallen short of his tutors' expectations, and had sought solitude in the orchards or near the horse paddocks to nurse his wounded pride and bitter discouragement. But no matter where he wandered off to, Loki had always found him in the end. His little brother would sit down next to him without a word, just providing a companionable silence that spoke volumes of love and acceptance. Despite his normal prickliness toward overly zealous displays of affection, Loki would allow Thor to rub his back and rest his head on his shoulder, because he knew the actions of comforting in turn brought Thor comfort. And when Thor felt better, they would both stand and smile at each other, and then walk back to the palace and continue on with their lives as though the quiet moment had not occurred. Looking back, Thor realized just how much of their lives had always been cemented in the comforting rigidity of ritual. He knew that any semblance of routine would help Loki, if only a little-at the very least, it could not hurt. But he had to convince him that it was all right. A part of Thor did not want to hear about Loki's dreams, for they would no doubt be painful to him, but he knew that he needed to ignore that part of himself. Loki needed him to be strong just now.

"Loki," he said with a soft sigh. "I am going to be honest with you, as I always am. It will be difficult for me to hear just what you are suffering. You know how I hate to see you hurting." He tucked a sweaty lock of hair behind Loki's ear, and his brother's gaze flicked upward to meet his for a fraction of an instant. There was still such remorse in those eyes, which were just beginning to brighten with the rising fever. "But it will be better for the both of us if you speak of what troubles your heart. I will feel as though I am finally being the elder brother I am supposed to be, after all of these years..."

Loki broke him off, shaking his head emphatically and reaching out to grasp Thor's forearm with fingers that still trembled just the slightest bit. His voice was slightly desperate when he spoke.

"Please do not say such things, Thor. You have always been a wonderful elder brother to me, even when I failed to see it. And you have been so kind these past couple of weeks..."

Thor rested his free hand atop Loki's, running a thumb over the pale knuckles. "But I hear you sob and feel you shake in my arms and watch the suffering in your eyes and I know that there is nothing I can do to make this better for you. And Loki, it _hurts_ me to see you like this!"

For a moment, Thor thought he had gone too far for his brother's sensitive emotions to bear. Loki's bottom lip began to tremble, and tears began to flow from his eyes once more. Thor reached out to stroke his cheek and was about to tell him not to worry and that it all mattered not, despite having sworn to honesty, when his brother spoke in one of the softest voices he had ever heard him use, contemplative yet anguished.

"I still see their faces every time I close my eyes. The people who I caused to perish, and all of those who mourn their passing. Many times I _am_ them, and I experience their pain and fear as though it were my own. It is breathtakingly, nauseatingly terrifying and it _hurts_. It is a terrible and novel thing, to experience one's own death a thousand times over, each time in a different manner." He paused, and when he spoke it appeared as though he was having increasing difficulty producing his words.

"A mind so contorted as mine was cannot realize the repercussions of their actions unless they experience them firsthand. And because I have been granted the ability to do so, I swear that I will never harm another soul in cold blood again. I...I know that it will never begin to make up for the horrors I caused, but it...it is all I have." Loki swallowed and drew a shaking breath. He was so pale, Thor thought, and so thin-like skin draped over a frame of bones. Could this wasted creature really have, so short a time ago, stood tall and proud before a crowd of frightened, kneeling people? It seemed nigh impossible. But this _was_ the broken thing that had driven a knife into Thor's side because he had looked around and seen nothing but failure and all he had wanted to do was show the universe that he was capable of succeeding at _something_.

"And other times, I am the one grieving, and that, I think, is even worse." Loki was only whispering now. "Because every time I, as someone else, watch someone I love die, I wake up thinking it was you." He lost his restraint on his tears then, and Thor drew him into his arms once more, horrified at what he had just heard. His brother dreamed of losing _him_. There were moments during which Loki legitimately believed that he, Thor, was dead. Thor knew what that felt like, to think your brother lost forever, but it was something he did not want to recall. And it was not something he would wish upon his most vile enemy, let alone his little brother.

"I know I have no right to even dream such things," whispered Loki, sniffling and tilting his head away from Thor to run the back of a forearm across his watering eyes. "I tried so many times to kill you that I do not deserve to feel the love that drives the grief in my dreams. And I know that I should not be complaining about it either, because it is all just a dream and for you it was real, at least for awhile. I cannot...well, actually I _can_ imagine what I put you through. And it is the most awful feeling I have ever experienced. _Thor_." Loki met his eyes, a panicky sort of desperation making his own eyes wide and wild. "How could I have done that to you?"

Thor snaked his arm behind Loki's head to grasp the back of his neck so that his brother could not look away from him and spoke, his voice firm but still gentle and full of love.

"Brother, you were not at all well when you fell from the Bifrost. Your mind and heart were broken, and you were so lost in despair that you just needed to escape. That does not change the fact that I mourned you every second of every hour that passed from the time I watched you fall until the day Heimdall came into the throne room bearing news of your survival. There was not a single moment that passed when you did not fill my heart and mind so fully that I thought I would suffocate because of the grief I felt when I realized I would never see you again." Thor's mind barely registered the tears that were leaking from his eyes. "But I hold none of it against you, nor do I blame you. I still remember my grief, yes, though I try so hard to forget. But there is no greater gift to someone in mourning than to find that their loved one yet lives, and now that is all that matters to me. You are here in my arms, and we are together."

He released his grasp on Loki's neck, and he expected his brother to immediately burrow his face into his shirt again. But Loki remained motionless but for his shakes, transparent beads of emotion running down his cheeks unheeded.

"But for how long?" he whispered, eyes wide and frightened.

Thor pulled him as close to him as he could then, fever be damned.

"Do not say such things, Loki. Do not even think them. You _will_ get well, and _when_ you are well, we will help the Avengers rebuild their city, and then the people will see how very sorry you are. All will be well, brother-dear. You will see."

Loki pressed into him and allowed Thor to run his thumb over his forehead slowly and repeatedly. After a couple of slightly more peaceful minutes, the younger god suddenly tensed and looked up at his brother.

"It was _you_," he said, as though he had just realized something of incredible importance.

Thor wrinkled his brow. "What do you mean?"

"When I was...being punished, I felt someone there with me, touching me and reassuring me. I thought I had made it up, because it was all I had to cling to." Then his eyes went from shining to ashamed as he lowered his gaze. "When you tried to comfort me after I woke up, I abhorred you for it because I thought you had abandoned me during the punishment. I felt so _pathetic_ because I thought I had to create my own source of comfort to keep from losing myself any further. But I was wrong. You never left me, did you?" His emerald eyes met Thor's again, searching his gaze for the newfound truth.

"No," responded Thor softly. "After we returned from Midgard, I vowed never to leave you again. I was not there when you needed me, and I want so much to make up for that. Will you allow me to try?" he asked hesitantly.

"You kept me from falling apart completely," murmured Loki. "I would have been lost within those nightmares forever if it hadn't been for you. I owe you the chance for that at least. But I would have said yes, anyway."

Thor smiled and kissed his hair, and then he held his brother in silence for a long while, trying to shake his worries for his brother's survival, hoping desperately that the Norns had written in their book of fate for Loki to live. For though he had told his little brother not to think about the alternative possibility, Thor could not help but dwell on it himself. And so he held Loki tightly, feeling each rise and fall of his chest against his own and praying that they were not numbered as the mortals' were.

He was not sure how much time had gone by when Loki murmured weakly,

"It's hot."

Thor sighed internally and released his grasp, moving his hand upward to feel Loki's brow, upon which he noticed sweat was beading.

"You have taken another fever, I fear. You are getting warmer quite quickly."

He rearranged Loki's pillows so that Loki could lean back against them, and then helped him into a comfortable position. He was just returned with a bowl of cool water and a cloth when Banner, having been alerted by JARVIS, arrived.

The doctor instructed the AI to read off Loki's vitals-his temperature was one-hundred one point six and climbing steadily. Banner shook his head worriedly.

"It's hard to say how long his temperature will continue to go up at this rate," he said to Thor. "You're likely to be in for a long night. Bathe his forehead and neck and keep him uncovered, even if he starts to feel chilled. If it gets too bad, you might consider having him take a bath. In the jacuzzi, not the shower-he shouldn't be on his feet. The water should be lukewarm, not cold. We don't want to shock his system. And make sure he keeps hydrated-have him drink lots of water."

Thor nodded, holding on to Banner's instructions like a lifeline, not wanting to miss a single detail. Banner gave Loki two more of the little white capsules called "Tylenol", which were supposed to help bring down the fever a little, and instructed Thor to give him two more in four hours' time if the fever had not receded. Then he bent down and rubbed the upper part of Loki's arm a couple of times. It took Loki several seconds to look at him, wearily and sleepily.

"Hey, you try to get some rest, okay? Just lie quietly and try to relax. I know it's rough, but you'll get through it."

Thor saw grief flicker in Loki's glassy eyes for a fraction of a second, but Loki did not address the fears for his survival that he had related to Thor not long before. Instead, he just murmured weakly,

"Thank you for your kindness, Dr. Banner."

Banner gave him a small smile, and accepted Thor's thanks with a nod before leaving the room. Thor sat cross-legged on the bed next to Loki, dipped the cloth he had retrieved from the washroom into the bowl of water, rung it out, and began to dab at Loki's face and the sides of his neck. Loki sighed softly and leaned a bit in to the blessed coolness, and Thor felt his heartache ease just slightest bit, glad that he was doing something to ease his brother's suffering, small though that action might be. He kept it up for over an hour, dipping, ringing, and bathing more times than he could count. Loki kept his eyes closed, nodding slightly when Thor asked if he had a headache, so Thor remained quiet, deciding it would be best for his brother to be allowed to rest in silence.

Loki lay quietly for awhile, but after a time he began to fuss, squirming uncomfortably when Thor removed the cloth from his forehead to rewet it and whimpering occasionally. When he attempted to move out of his position of resting against the pillows and curl up on his side but struggled to do so in his weakness, Thor worriedly placed his hand on his brow again. His eyes widened at the intense heat he felt radiating onto his skin.

"Brother, you are hot to the touch," he murmured. Loki only moaned softly in response, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"This cannot be allowed to continue-we must get you cooled down. You should drink some water, as Dr. Banner said, and then I will run you a bath." Thor poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table and held it out to Loki, but his brother made no move to accept it.

"Loki, you must drink," Thor urged. "Your fever is causing you to become dehydrated, and it is making your exhaustion even worse. Come now, you will feel better for it."

Loki eyed the glass for a moment, appearing to be attempting to summon the strength and willpower to take it and drink. Finally, he reached out, placed his hands on both sides of the cup, and tentatively tried to maneuver it to his lips. His hands trembled with weakness and he very nearly spilled the vessel's contents on himself, but Thor quickly placed his large and steady hands over Loki's and assisted him. Loki sipped experimentally at first, but then, apparently realizing how good it felt to take in the cool liquid, began to drink faster until he had drained the glass. Thor rubbed the upper part of his arm as he returned the cup to the bedside table.

"Well done, Loki. You did very well."

Loki managed half a smile at the praise, his eyes flicking lovingly to Thor's for a moment before he closed them again, his face contorting into a grimace.

"Brother, what is it?" Thor asked, realizing suddenly that perhaps the water had not had the intended soothing effect on his charge after all.

Loki squirmed a little, and then suddenly his eyes shot open and he tried desperately to sit up straighter. Thor came to his aid in an instant, not knowing what he problem was but responding to the need to help his brother in whatever way he could. Before Thor could process what was happening, Loki had vomited the entire glass of water, along with an awful, yellow-green tinted bile, all over his own lap and the blankets on which he lay.

They both sat in shocked silence for a moment. But then Thor saw tears running down his brother's face, silent and frustrated and ashamed.

"What is it, Loki? Are you hurting? Do you need to be sick again?"

Loki sniffled and shook his head, staring at the mess he had made with his bottom lip quivering, and then said, his voice more a whimper than anything else,

"I tried, Thor. I t...tried to keep it down..."

"Oh Loki," whispered Thor, understanding then. "It is not your fault-you did so very well. The fever is upsetting your sensitive stomach, that is all. We will get you into the bath, and I will fetch you some new nightclothes and change the blankets, and then all will be well."

He knew he ought to tell Banner, as the doctor had made him promise to inform him of any changes in Loki's condition that the monitor could not detect. But looking at Loki, trembling and filthy and miserable, he realized that if he brought the doctor in now, it would make things all the worse for his brother. Loki was barely clinging on to the tiniest semblance of dignity that he had left-a dignity that he had always valued so highly. Thor's heart overcame his brain, as it so often did, and he set about nursing his brother.

There was a heavily cushioned armchair in the corner of the room, and despite its size Thor was able to lift it with ease and move it into the washroom, where he placed it on the floor near the large bathing concavity which Stark had called a "jacuzzi". He turned on the water and, ensuring that it ran neither hot nor cold, he left it and returned to the bed chamber, where Loki was regarding him with a look that might have been called mildly amused if it had not been so tempered by exhaustion and discomfort. But it was close enough, and Thor smiled broadly, hoping it would provide some form of encouragement.

But Loki's brows knit together in a troubled expression once more as Thor undid the buttons of his nightshirt and then helped him swing his legs over the side of the bed so he could remove his pants. He expected to need to reassure his brother that there was no need for humiliation-he was ill and needed care, and there was no shame to be found in that-but by then Loki seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his brother was carrying his entirely unclothed body into the washroom. He just allowed his head to loll against Thor's shoulder as Thor took him into his arms, and his only response when Thor placed him delicately in the soft chair was to sigh softly and close his eyes, leaning against the back. He gave a quiet, forced noise of acknowledgement when Thor informed him that he would be right back.

Thor found another set of nightclothes in one of the drawers in the bureau, and he retrieved another set of sheets and blankets from the closet he had visited before, when Loki had experienced his first spell of chills. By the time he had finished changing the bedclothes, noting with a gnawing worry that the mess on the previous ones contained no visible food matter, the jacuzzi had filled.

Loki did not open his eyes when Thor picked him up again, and he leaned into his touch. But when Thor placed him in the water, as slowly as he could, Loki gasped, his body tensing.

"Cold," he whined, regarding Thor with a look of pouting betrayal.

"It is but tepid, actually," said Thor calmly, fighting allowing his brother's discomfort to get in the way of doing what was best for him. "It only feels cold to you because you are so hot. It will feel much better in a few moments, once you become accustomed to it."

Loki shivered violently for a minute, but soon, just as Thor had predicted, the chilled feeling eased and he settled back against the wall of the jacuzzi, closing his eyes in relief.

"Are you sleepy?" Thor murmured. His brother's lethargy concerned him greatly. There was no doubt it came from a combination of fever and dehydration, and perhaps undernourishment as well. But if Loki could not even stomach a glass of water, however would he manage to get the sustenance he needed?

Loki nodded wordlessly. Thor wet a washcloth and began to rub the dampness over the tops of his brother's shoulders, which poked up just above the waterline.

"Then you may go to sleep. I will wash your body and your hair. Rest now, Loki."

Thor's hands were those of a warrior, muscled and calloused from clutching the hilt of a blade or his hammer, and they were meant for fighting and for great feats of strength. They felt so strange and out of place softly circling a washcloth over the back of someone who was ill and fragile. Trying not to jostle Loki was a lost cause, and it was made no better by the fact that Thor's hands trembled just the slightest bit whenever he allowed his current situation to catch up with him.

Loki was very ill, that much was now all too clear. Loki was very ill and two of Midgard's sharpest minds could not determine the cause. Loki might even be dying. And even if Loki should live, it was likely that he would be haunted for all of eternity by nightmares stemming from the Allfather's punishment. Where had it all gone so wrong, Thor wondered, for the bright and brilliant and sweet little brother he had once known to have to become so haunted and jaded just to break the cycle of grief-driven insanity that had caused him to do terrible things?

Thor held back a wince as he rubbed the cloth over Loki's abdomen. His little brother had always been thin, partly because he had been born so much smaller than the standard for his race, and partly because of his finicky eating habits that stemmed mostly from the constant worry that what he ate might make him sick. But never before had Thor been able to feel Loki's ribs so prominently. He realized suddenly that his brother probably had not eaten properly since before he fell into the Dark World. The Norns only knew what he had been given to eat down_ there_, and there was no doubt that his conquest on Midgard had afforded him little time to even think of food. And his nightmares had disturbed and depressed him so ever since the punishment, and now there was this illness to deal with as well. Really, it was a marvel that Loki had survived this long. At that revelation, Thor made a mental note to speak with Dr. Banner about the problem, including the earlier upset stomach, first thing in the morning.

But not just then. For at that moment, despite his raging fever and lingering nightmares and guilt and worry, Loki, having finally fallen asleep, was at peace. And that was enough for Thor. There was one glimmering beacon in all of this bleakness, and that was the fact that he had his brother back. Loki had not forgotten the love they had always shared, and Thor was glad they had at least been allowed that reconciliation, even if his time with his brother should be cut unmercifully short. He would give every moment and every ounce of himself to Loki until this trial ended, one way or the other. He would not allow his little brother to feel abandoned again. That, Thor swore upon Mjolnir.

He washed Loki's body and hair, taking his time, ensuring that he saturated every single inch with shampoo, washing out the fever-sweat and distributing the tepid bathwater all around his brother's too-hot body. After nearly two hours of dozing in the jacuzzi, Loki began to feel cooler to the touch, so Thor woke him gently, picked him up, and lifted him up out of the tub and back onto the armchair. From there, he toweled him off thoroughly, giving particular attention to his hair to ensure that he would not chill, as he was so prone to lately, and then dressed him in the fresh pair of nightclothes he had found. Finally, Thor laid his brother in bed atop the fresh sheets. Loki sighed and blinked at him when he did so, but settled back down almost immediately, closing his eyes and losing himself to blessed rest once more.

For a time, Thor pressed up next to his brother, feeling his warmth-still too much, but not burning hot as he had been before-radiating onto his own body. But sleep remained hidden from him, and Thor ended up sitting beside Loki on the bed for hours, just watching over him. He would have remained content to do so, he thought, for all of eternity.


	16. Chapter 16

**Hi, readers! Okay, so like I said last chapter, the next chapter will be posted next Wednesday morning. Thanks so much for your patience! If you've read my story "Shattered Glass", the first part of this chapter will look incredibly familiar. ;) Our first Clint and Natasha! More Loki whump, as per usual. Enjoy, and please review!****  
**

"_Are you nervous, Agent Barton?"_

"_No."_

"_Remember you must tell the truth for this to be effective. Neither you nor the department will gain anything if you lie."_

"_Okay. Uh, I guess I'm a little nervous."_

Clint tightened his grip around his glass of whiskey to keep it from sliding out of his hand, which had grown slick with sweat.

"_I'm just going to ask you a few questions to begin with. How are you adjusting to life after your incident?"_

Adjusting? He was adjusting just fine, thanks. Because it was the easiest thing in the world to go back to your regular routine and pretend like nothing was ever wrong after having your mind taken over by some crazy alien bastard and being forced to kill people you cared about.

"_Walk me through the interactions you've had with people today. What they said and what you said. Who have you spoken to today? Director Fury? Agent Hill? Agent Romanoff?"_

What the hell did what he said to people have to do with anything? Granted, she'd hit the nail on the head there. She must have talked to Fury. As it happened, they'd had quite a vocal argument that morning. The last thing Clint had wanted to do two weeks after the battle of New York was to sit in the office of some nosy psychologist and talk about what was thinking, how he felt, and how his life was going. Fury said it was for his own good. That was pure and total bullshit. Couldn't Fury see that what Clint really needed was to go back to work and pretend it never happened? Maybe if he worked hard and long enough, his mind would be distracted and he would stop thinking about it. But no. It wasn't for Clint's good at all. It was for the department's. Fury wasn't sure whether he could trust Clint.

"_Do you have nightmares about your incident?"_

_Does killing people, people who are important to you, haunt you in your dreams, Clint? What about when you're awake? Because if you're not a rock-hard, impenetrable, inhuman wall, that means there's something wrong with you._

With an unintelligible shout of frustration, Clint hurled his empty glass against the wall of his dayroom. It hit, of course, exactly where he had been aiming-just inches from the doorframe. Naturally, that was the exact moment that Natasha picked to walk through the door. Her quick reflexes and enhanced sense of self-preservation took over as the transparent missile came rocketing toward her and she leapt sideways, cat-like, eyes flicking first to the pile of shattered glass on the carpet and then to Clint.

"Tasha! Holy shit..."

"It's okay, I'm...fine. Good thing you weren't aiming for the door." Her tone had a forced lightness to it, as though she was trying to hide the fact that she was shaken-and worried.

"Yeah..." He lowered his gaze to the ground as she approached, bare feet treading soundlessly across the carpet, and sat down beside him on the sofa. They were both silent for several minutes, she running her hand up and down his upper arm. He could feel her thin, graceful fingers tracing the contours of his well-developed muscles, and he wanted so badly to get lost in her touch and just forget everything that had happened over the past couple of weeks. Or everything in general-S.H.I.E.L.D., his past and hers, the toll their jobs took on them. Why couldn't it just be the two of them, sitting on the couch in the lamplight, silent and touching? Why did everything else have to exist?

But he had to be realistic. He snorted internally as the word popped into his mind. That was probably among the words the psychologist had used when she told him his results. He didn't remember for sure-it all kind of blurred together, and the amount of whiskey he'd drank since then didn't help. Was this what was to become of him, then, now that he had no life prospects? Just another drunk who drowned his sorrows every day and night until one day his liver gave out? Clint wanted to laugh cynically at the thought, hoping it might raise his spirits, but just then he felt Natasha's hand caress his arm again and he remembered that he did still have at least one life prospect. And the person associated with it deserved to know the truth.

"Tasha."

He was grateful for her silence up until that point. Their relationship was a quiet one. Neither were big on words-both had less than illustrious pasts that were full of things they wished to bury and leave behind, and that had taught them the value of reticence. They never pushed each other to speak of anything, and that was part of why they got along so well-and why they'd become so close. There was trust and support between them, but along with that came the knowledge that as much space as needed would be given, until the other was ready to share what troubled them.

She regarded him inquiringly, but did not speak. He drew a steadying breath and let it out again before he told her the truth, plainly and simply.

"I failed my psych eval."

The motion of her hand on his arm ceased, and he felt her fingers squeeze his deltoid harder than they had been previously. It took her several seconds speak-she seemed to be attempting to decide how best to respond. Finally, she simply asked,

"So what now?"

He sighed wearily, remembering the psychologist's words, spoken with a deliberate calmness as he reeled.

"I can't come back to work for three months. Then I'll have to take another test, and if I fail that one then I'll be out for another six months. If I fail the third test..." He sighed. "I'm not taking three of those goddamned tests. All I want is to come back to work. I _need_ to go back to work! They're taking away the one thing that's going to make it bearable because they think I can't do my job."

"They know you can do your job," she said, gazing into his tired eyes with her deep, understanding blue ones. "You proved that two weeks ago. But you've been through a hell of a lot in a short time, Clint. Things like this don't just go away. You of all people should know that."

_You and I_, he thought. His hand found hers and their fingers entwined against the seat of the couch. She hadn't said it, but he knew she was thinking it.

_You don't understand. Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Take you out and stuff something else in? Do you know what it's like to be unmade?_

_You know that I do._

Clint tried to imagine what it would have been like to go through what Loki had done to him as a _child_. He was having enough problems now, as an adult with an established perception of how the world was supposed to operate-for example, he knew that killing people, or at the very least the people on your side, was wrong. What must it have been like for someone so young to have their view of reality calibrated so incorrectly, and led to believe that moral wrongs were rights?

He remembered the day he had found her. He had spent two days searching, and when he had had her cornered, he had raised his bow and pulled the string back to his ear, ready to release the tension and finish the job. But then he had made the mistake that he had sworn he never would-he'd looked into her eyes. He'd looked into those frightened, broken eyes-she'd known there was no way out-and he had seen _himself_. A criminal, surviving the only way they knew how. The difference, it turned out, was that he'd known the errors in his ways. She'd had no idea. It had taken time, years in fact, to undo the damage, to untie the knots that had been twisted in her brain and in her heart. She would never fully recover, he knew, because it had all happened when she had been so young that she had no set point to go back to. But she was better, and now she was the one holding _him_ together as he was faced with what someone else had done with his body and mind.

Clint reached up with his free hand to tuck a stray lock of red hair behind Natasha's ear, and he felt her grip around his hand tighten, ever so slightly.

"You're gonna be okay, Clint," she said, as soft-spoken as normal but with less of her usual, matter-of-fact tone. She sounded confident, but the conviction in her voice was stemmed from her heart rather than her mind. He swallowed, but the action failed to counteract the dryness in his throat.

"You think?" he asked hoarsely. God, he wasn't used to feeling this damned _vulnerable_. It was all he'd experienced the past two weeks. But he knew he would have hated it all the more had she not been beside him, her hand still holding his.

"Yeah," she murmured. "Yeah, I do."

Neither of them was the type for outward sentimentality, that was for sure. She would never say out loud what she was thinking, but he could read what he needed from the way she'd rubbed his arm, and the way she now held his hand and looked into his soul through his eyes. She knew he wasn't just worried about the eval, or even about going back to work. He didn't _feel_ like himself yet, or at least not like he had before the incident, and deep within the darkest crevices of his mind, the ones that had been brought to light by the touch of Loki's scepter, he wondered if he might never return to how he had been before. But she wouldn't lie to him-they spoke so little that they could not afford any of their words to each other to be falsehoods. There was at least one person in the world who had faith in him. And to Clint, she was the only one who mattered.

He smelled the light perfume of her shampoo-coconut-as she leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder, and he lay his cheek against her hair. It wasn't long before they fell asleep like that, their fingers still interlaced, the shattered glass lying temporarily forgotten on the floor.

Loki was not at all pleased by the observation that his symptoms appeared to be becoming continually less predictable, not to mention more frequent and more intense. According to the way things had been going thus far, he should have taken a chill next, but he had only been able to rest for about four hours between the time his fever broke and when he woke up sweaty, but feeling cold. Thor, who he was sure had slept even less than he had, had woken when he had felt Loki pressing more tightly into him and laid the back of his hand on Loki's brow and frowned at the warmth he felt. Loki had protested with as much strength as he could manage at his brother removing the blankets, furrowing his eyebrows and taking on an injured, pleading look. Of course, Thor's heart had melted almost instantly, and he had allowed Loki to keep one light blanket until Banner arrived.

The covering had brought him comfort at first, but soon Loki found it necessary to shed it as he began to feel progressively warmer. By the time the doctor walked through the door, Loki was desperately wishing there were more blankets to remove-he could find no solace from the heat. He knew that he should be grateful-the fevers were marginally easier to endure than the chills,-but all he could think about was how much he would love to immerse himself in a bathing tub full of ice cubes. Or perhaps stand naked in Jotunheim. He really was beginning to feel _that_ desperate.

"Hey, Loki."

Loki regarded Banner through eyelids that felt progressively heavier. The doctor's greeting had been kind, and Loki knew that it was early for even him to be awake. But he did not wish to dig down in the depleted reservoirs of his strength just to return a salutation, however impolite that might be. He hoped Banner would understand.

Banner laid a hand on Loki's forehead to validate JARVIS's reading, and Loki leaned instinctively into his cool touch until the doctor pulled back, shaking his head.

"One-oh-three seven and climbing. How long did it take to break last night?"

Loki was thankful that he appeared to be addressing his brother, and not him. He listened with as little effort as possible, keeping his eyes open only a crack to keep out the light that was making his head pound with increasing intensity.

"I...I do not remember precisely." Thor sighed and rubbed his temples. "My deepest apologies, Dr. Banner. I am finding sleep increasingly difficult as Loki worsens, and I fear it is affecting my mental faculties. I believe it was some time around half-past two when he was able to rest peacefully."

"And it's not even seven now," murmured Banner, looking at his digital wristwatch. "The flare-ups are getting closer together. And this is the first time he hasn't gone from hot to cold or cold to hot, right?"

"To my knowledge," Thor agreed. "This affliction grows increasingly strange, and I do not like it at all. He vomited last night, when the fever got too high."

Banner whirled on him with a higher velocity than Loki would have thought the small, greying man capable. "And when exactly did you plan on telling me this? I asked you to let me know of any change immediately!"

Thor looked momentarily worried before his hackles raised in defense, and he moved in the direction of the bed, putting himself in between Loki and the doctor, who was displaying the anger they all feared in him. Loki pressed back against his pillow, too weak (_utterly helpless_, he thought pathetically) to defend himself should the monster fight its way out. Thor summoned Mjolnir from where it rested on the bureau, and he stood ready to fight for Loki's safety. Loki noticed Banner's eyes flicking with malcontent down to the hammer, and he realized that Thor's actions might have made matters all the worse. Thinking as quickly as his fevered, sluggish mind would allow him, Loki tried to speak in a steady voice. He failed miserably, and the words came out soft and trembling.

"Please do not be angry with Thor, Dr. Banner. I made quite a mess when I was sick, and he was only trying to help me hold together the fraying threads of my dignity. My stomach has always been sensitive, and we thought it was only the fever..." He trailed off, the words becoming jumbled in his mind and on his lips, but thankfully they seemed to have accomplished their intended purpose. At least a bit of his silver-tongued mastery of language still remained, and Loki allowed himself to take the smallest piece of triumph from that. The tenseness in Banner's muscles had relaxed, and after a few seconds, Thor lowered Mjolnir and placed it on the floor beside him.

"I'm sorry." Banner flicked his gaze for a brief moment to both of them in turn before lowering it to rest nonspecifically on one of the intricately carved bedposts.

"As am I," replied Thor, sounding grave. "I realize now that I probably hurt Loki even more by not informing you immediately of the change in his condition than I would have had I called for you. I hope you both will accept my apology." At a nod from Banner and a telling gaze from Loki, he continued speaking to the doctor.

"When I noticed how high his fever had become, I told him to drink a glass of water, but he brought it up again less than half of a minute later. It was obvious how little he has eaten recently." Thor shook his head sadly, and for a moment Loki prickled at the conversation that so blatantly ignored the fact that he was in the room. But the feeling was subdued when Thor went on to say, his voice tender as he recalled the intimacy of his care and Loki's receptiveness to it,

"Then I placed him in the bathing tub, in tepid water. He seemed the most comfortable in there, and I allowed him to rest there for two hours before I carried him back to bed. It did help a bit with the fever. It began to recede from there-or at least until now."

Banner nodded. "Good. You did well."

Thor shook his head. "On the contrary, I fear it was my fault that his stomach rebelled. I insisted he drink the entire glass of water."

"You had no way of knowing that would happen, Thor," said Banner at the same time as Loki murmured, "Not your fault, silly oaf." Loki saw his brother turn back to flash him a grateful half-smile.

Having been informed of the details, Banner turned then to his patient, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed and rubbing Loki's forearm gently to get his attention. Loki peered at him out of one watery, tired eye.

"How're you doing now, Loki? I can tell you're not feeling well-what exactly's going on?"

Loki sighed internally. The man was supposed to be nearly a healer-could he not guess what Loki was feeling from his symptoms? But he supposed Banner was being thorough, and for that, he had to admit, he was grateful.

"Hot and sleepy." He tried to use as few words as possible to conserve his strength. "Head throbs."

"And your stomach? Do you feel like you need to throw up-be sick-now?"

Loki thought for a moment. "No," he replied quietly. "But I think I might if I had to drink another glass of water."

Banner nodded, looking simultaneously thoughtful and concerned.

"Yeah, okay," he said after several seconds. "Look, this is kind of going to suck, and I'm sorry about that, but I'm going to have to put in an IV catheter." At Loki's confused and frightened look, he explained. "You're losing a lot of water because you're sweating, but you're not taking any in. You're getting really dehydrated-I think that's what's making your head hurt, and it's not doing any wonders for your lethargy, either. This will let me give you fluids through a vein in your arm, so you don't have to upset your stomach by drinking a lot of water. We'll wait and see about the food part-we need to take it easy, one step at a time. Your body's too weak to rush anything. But the fluids might help to lower the fever a little, too. I'll see if I can find what I need-I'll be back."

When the doctor had departed, Loki gave a soft, exhausted sigh which he hoped covered up his fear. He feared his illness was compromising his famed ability to lie, however, and this was confirmed when he felt Thor pass his enormous thumb over his knuckles. He realized then how futile it was to try to hide how frightened he was-his brother just seemed to _know_. Loki supposed, feeling nausea suddenly rise within him, that it was because he was just as afraid as Loki was. The mighty god of thunder might not _show_ fear, but Loki knew, probably better than anyone, that he felt it. The nights before they rode into battle as green warriors, Thor would pace the tent restlessly as Loki lay quietly in his bedroll. Thor had spoken very little during those times, and Loki often wondered what frightened him the most-dying or failing the soldiers he led. He had never stopped to consider maybe the thought of _Loki_ dying might have been what unnerved the normally unshakeable Thor the most. But after experiencing those horrible dreams, from which he would wake convinced his brother had perished in the place of one of the victims who haunted his nightmares, Loki realized just what a terrifying prospect losing a sibling really was. He did not want to leave Thor, not anymore. It really was not fair, he thought, until he realized unhappily that it probably was. _He_ deserved to be punished, anyway-perhaps this illness was to be the death sentence that no doubt everyone on Midgard thought he deserved. But Thor did not deserve this punishment-for if Loki died, he would be left grieving and brotherless once more.

Two days prior, when the weight of his hatred had suddenly come crashing down on him and he had given in to his need for his brother's love and companionship, Loki had wondered if his sudden acceptance of Thor had perhaps had something to do with delirium resulting from his illness. But at that moment, everything around him was so _real_. The heat he felt, his exhaustion, his headache, the feel of the cool cloth that Thor pressed against his forehead, Thor's hand atop his own...and his gratefulness for his brother's presence. Loki knew then that it had not all been a figment of his tormented mind. As unsettled as his mind yet was, he had accepted Thor back into his life. _However short that life may be._

He shuddered a little as that last thought came unbidden to his mind. Thor felt it and regarded him with a worried look. Loki wanted to reassure him, to lie as he always did and say his heart was not tortured with worries and grief, but he could not summon the energy. He just closed his eyes and when he did, he felt Thor lean over onto the bed from where he sat in a chair and press his cheek up against Loki's.

_Sentimental oaf_, he longed to say, a touch of jest in his voice to lighten the mood. But he could not manage even that, and so he just pressed back, feeling the scratchiness of Thor's untended beard and the relative coolness of his cheek.

Thor was bathing Loki's forehead when Banner returned, pushing a tall, metal pole that rolled on a set of wheels and bearing an armful of implements that Loki had never seen before. He watched the doctor set the items on the bedside table, exhaustion tempering his worry. Thor rose and moved to the other side of the bed when Banner indicated that he had need of Loki's left arm. He produced the bottle of sharp-smelling alcohol that he had employed the two times he had taken Loki's blood for analysis. This time the touch of the liquid on the crook of Loki's arm was blissfully cold as it evaporated within seconds from his burning skin.

Banner explained his actions as he progressed. "Okay, this will kill any bacteria-tiny things you can't see that can give you an infection-on your skin so they don't get inside you when I put in the catheter. Because the last thing you need right now is septicemia."

Loki saw his brother's brow furrow in a confused sort of curiosity at the unfamiliar words Banner was using, but for once the insufferably nosy Thor did not ask to further his knowledge of the Midgardian language. Loki was not sure if this uncharacteristic reticence came from his sensitivity to Loki's headache or his preoccupation with the grave matter at hand. Or perhaps he, like Loki, was just too exhausted to muster the effort. Loki felt rather bad for keeping his brother from resting, especially when Thor was taking such meticulous and tender care of him, but he knew that trying to order him away, even for his own good, would be futile. Now that Thor had Loki's heart once again, Loki knew he was intent not to abandon him even for a second. But Loki had to admit that he was quite grateful for that.

His attention was drawn back to the matter at hand when Banner produced something that looked similar to the device he had used to take Loki's blood, except for one glaring detail-the needle was _much_ larger. Loki drew away from it instinctively-no doubt Banner planned to stick that thing into his arm, and it looked like it would _hurt_. Loki did not think he could handle that at the moment-his exhaustion was taking a massive toll on his pain tolerance, demonstrated by the fact that his head pounded with increasing ferocity as his blood pressure rose. He cursed himself for allowing a slight whimper of fear to pass his lips-his actions mirrored that of a small, weakling child. Why should he be afraid of little prick in his arm? But he was, and he was too hot and weary and shaky and thirsty and miserable to police himself. He felt Thor's hand press his own.

"Do not fear, Loki. Dr. Banner is helping you. And I will be right next to you the entire time."

"It won't be as bad as you think. It'll be just like when I took your blood, remember?" Banner tied the tourniquet around Loki's upper arm and clamped it in place with a metal instrument that resembled seamstress's scissors. The tightness of it was uncomfortable, but Loki was able to keep himself from flinching this time. He swallowed and nodded as much as his aching head would permit, feeling Thor's soft but firm touch that implored _be strong_.

"Okay. Now, I'll explain what I'm doing before I do it. I'll put this needle into your vein, like I did before. Then I'll pull the needle out, but this tube will stay in your arm." Banner indicated the different parts of the foreign device with his finger as he named them. "I'll tape it in place, but you'll have to be careful not to jar it too much or get it wet. If you want to take a bath, we can tape some plastic wrap around it so no water gets in. But whatever you do, don't try to pull it out. If it isn't done right, you could lose a lot of blood." He paused and gave Loki a look that was intended to invoke confirmation of understanding. Loki nodded again.

"Once the catheter's in, we'll put a needle through this rubber part on the end, and that way we can get some fluids into you-and probably PPN in a few hours." As Banner spoke, he began running his middle and forefingers down Loki's arm. His fingers felt cool, and Loki took enough comfort in that and the distraction of his words to not be paying attention when the needle entered him. He hissed slightly at the jab of pain, but the offending object was removed as quickly as it had been introduced. In its place remained the clear tube. Loki held his arm still as Banner wrapped some clear, sticky material around his arm, crossing over the catheter. The doctor then had Loki flex his arm a bit to ensure that the device would remain in place.

"Okay, the worst part's over. You did really well." Banner gave him a small smile, and Loki noted without really knowing how to react that it was only halfway forced. His attention was drawn away from the doctor when he felt Thor's hand rubbing the outside of his thigh, letting him know he had done well. Loki sighed and closed his eyes for a few seconds, completely drained of energy from just the short ordeal, gratefully aware of Thor's large and, for the moment, silent presence at his side even when he could not see him.

"We'll run you a bag of Lactated Ringer's now," Banner was saying as he attached one of the flexible bags of transparent fluid that Loki recognized-it was what Stark and Banner had heated up in an attempt to warm him during his most recent spell of chills. Banner attached a needle, smaller than the one he had just jabbed into Loki's arm, to the end of a long, clear tube that was joined at the other terminus to the bag of fluids. Next, holding the complex over the bowl Thor had been using to bathe Loki's forehead, he turned a wheel on the tubing until fluid erupted from the end of the needle in short bursts. When the flow was a steady, uninterrupted stream, he turned the contraption off. Banner then chose a syringe of clear liquid from the bedside table and, taking hold of Loki's arm gently, inserted the tip of the needle into the rubber stop on the catheter.

"This is to flush the catheter, to make sure nothing gets in the way of the fluids," he explained to Thor, who looked inquisitive, and Loki, who was, at this point, really too weary and weak to care what the doctor was doing to him. _What an odd feeling,_ Loki thought. _I should be resisting this undignified treatment with the ferocity of a thousand bilge snipe. But now I do not protest, even in the slightest. How much of it can be attributed to my pathetic condition...and how much to the trust in Banner-and Thor-that I did not even realize I had?_

Finally, Banner replaced the needle of the syringe with that of the tubing attached to the bag of fluids, and he bid Loki lie quietly until the bag had been emptied into his body through the catheter in his arm. Loki did not need to be told twice-he shut his eyes and slumped against Thor's chest when the latter began wetting his brow again. He heard Thor and Banner speaking softly, but he had no will to participate in the conversation.

"You Midgardians have strange healing methods," Thor was saying. "So many...devices, I do not know how you remember which does what."

"Practice." There was a hint of laughter to Banner's voice, and Loki would have smiled if he had felt up to it. "And a lot of study. I studied medicine for three and a half years-which is quite awhile on Earth. And in medical school, you study _every day_."

"That sounds like someone else I know," said Thor quietly, a hint of affection in his voice. Loki knew precisely to whom he was referring. "You must have been quite good at healing, if you were so devoted to learning your craft."

The doctor was silent for several moments before he spoke again, his voice even softer than normal.

"Even if I am good at it overall, what does it matter right now? I can pull out every treatment I can think of, but let's face it-I don't know what's wrong with Loki. I can only treat the symptoms for so long-I have to figure out the cause." He paused, and Loki felt Thor's ministrations cease for a few tense seconds. Then finally,

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that in front...I'm sorry."

"Dr. Banner, why are you blaming yourself for what is happening to Loki?" Thor asked plaintively. Had it not been for the deep rumble with which he spoke, he would have sounded much like a small, innocent child. Loki, caught between his frustration at the conversation that was going on about him like he was not even in the room and his curiosity at how Banner would answer Thor's question, wondered, _Yes, why? _He cracked an eye open to observe the doctor as he responded.

"I'm...I..." Banner stammered uselessly, then surrendered with a sigh. "I guess I'm just one of those doctors who can't help but take every single one of their patient's cases to heart and devote all their time to making them better until they are. It gives plenty of good feelings, yeah, but way more often than that it's this sort of horrible frustration that can be debilitating if you let it. I guess healing people, as you call it, is kind of a...terrible privilege." He pronounced the last two words with an odd expression on his face, as though he were just now remembered an interesting coincidence.

"You have done far more than any other would, and for that I am grateful. My brother yet lives because of you." Thor's voice was oddly contemplative, and it held hints of apprehension and sadness.

Banner gave a half-smile. "Thanks. That...means a lot."

But the smile was short-lived, and the doctor soon turned his glance back down onto the plush carpeting of Loki's chamber floor. All three of them knew what words he had left unspoken.

_If only it were enough._


	17. Chapter 17

**Hi, everyone! Here is the long-awaited Chapter 17. I want to thank you all again for being so patient with me and my travels. Chapter 18 will be posted as normal on Friday morning. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing-I apologize on not getting back to everyone! I normally try to do that, but having been so busy lately, I'm afraid it's been impossible. :( But I do truly appreciate each and every review!**

The first thing that Tony noticed upon entering the medical lab was how tired Bruce looked-there were dark circles under his eyes that reminded him of how Loki had looked when he and Thor had first shown up at his front door over a week prior. (He didn't care to venture a guess as to how much worse the god of mischief looked now.) As Tony stood quietly in the doorway, he watched his friend's eyes slowly close and his head slump forward to rest on his arms, stretched out in front of him on the table.

"No brainwaves on why Frosty's under the weather?"

Bruce jumped, despite the purposeful low volume of Tony's question, and then turned to look at him while uttering a nervous chuckle, and obvious attempt to cover up his surprise.

"Hey, watch it. You know better than to sneak up on me. You might end up without a tower." There was a forced lightness to his tone, and Tony knew that if Bruce was turning to the Hulk for mood-lightening jokes, there was definitely a problem.

"Sorry. Look, I know you're all dead-set on solving this puzzle, but man, have you looked in a mirror in the past forty-eight hours? Throw in the towel for a little while and catch some Z's."

Another forced chuckle. "You think _I_ look tired? You should see Thor. I didn't think he could _get_ tired. I mean, I saw him after the battle and he looked like he could fight a few thousand more Chitauri."

Tony, not about to let his friend off the hook that easily, steered Bruce gently back to the subject at hand.

"I wasn't talking about Thor. I was talking about you. If you don't get REMs sleep soon, you're not even going to be able to string coherent sentences together, let alone try to solve what could very well be the most unique medical problem of the century. You're not doing anyone-yourself, Loki, Thor-any favors by doing this to yourself."

Bruce sighed. "I don't know if it'll be worth the attempt. Every time I lay down, my mind just keeps working-turning over all the test results and symptoms and patterns and trying to put it all together and make sense of it."

Tony shook his head. "Dude, I think you've crossed the line from devoted physician to, like, obsessed. Loki's taken over your mind, too."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, a dark expression washing over his face. "Maybe addictive personality just runs in the family." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at the table at which he sat.

Tony raised a concerned eyebrow. "Bruce, man, where the _hell_ did that even come from?!" He knew to what his friend was referring, but Bruce_ never _made off-handed comments about his father's alcoholism.

The doctor blinked blankly a couple of times, then shook his head and rested his forehead in his hand, propping it up by placing his elbow on the table. "I don't know. You're right. I need to go to bed."

Despite his eagerness to hear that admission less than ten seconds prior, now Tony was not about to let Bruce go anywhere. He held up a hand, palm facing outward, the same way he positioned to use his repulsers.

"Uh, first you tell me what dark and depressing groove in that smart, wrinkly scientist-brain of yours that last comment came out of." He hoisted himself up onto the countertop across from where Bruce sat, preparing for listening.

Bruce ran his fingers through his mussed, graying hair. It was obvious he knew that Tony would keep pestering him until he talked. The doc learned fast.

"Just some unhappy parallels drawn in an exhausted mind, I guess. Thor says Loki's nightmares have gotten worse since he's been sick-it's probably a result of the temperature extremes and rapid changes having an effect on his mind. And I admit it, I feel bad for him. I mean, I know he did really bad things, but to have to be faced with a literal manifestation of his guilt every time he closes his eyes, making it impossible to rest in the few hours between the flare-ups...it's just not something I'd wish on anybody, not even him. And I couldn't help thinking that he's going through that because of something his dad did. I mean, I know he had to be punished, but...Odin's the most powerful being in the universe, right? Shouldn't he have been able to, I don't know, foresee this happening or something? Couldn't he at least have spared his own son that additional pain?"

Tony's laugh was a short, humorless bark. "The world's full of shitty dads, Bruce. I happen to have experience in that department, too. But I don't know if any of them really _mean_ to hurt their kids. Odin probably thought he was doing what was best for Loki, and for his kingdom. My dad was always busy working, creating something to make the world better, and I think he mostly forgot about me. And Bruce, your dad was _sick_. Like, for real. He loved you in his heart, but his mind just wouldn't let him realize it." He stopped there, fighting down and covering up his nervousness at how his friend would respond. But Bruce just looked at him, a slight incredulousness on his face.

"You know, you're the only person who I would _ever_ let say that to me. Well, one of two. I guess Betty and I talked about it, a long time ago. But somehow, it's...okay."

Tony chuckled warmly. "For the record, I don't really talk about my dad with anybody, either. I don't have too many fond memories of him. We've just gotta push past it, accept that it helped make us who we are today, and move on with our lives."

Bruce sighed in an almost transitional manner. "I hadn't thought about my dad in months before today. I didn't realize those feelings were still there, even though I guess I should have. But you're right. And I think the first step of 'moving on with my life' is going to be taking a nap."

"That's what I wanted to hear! Good choice." Tony clapped his friend lightly on the back as Bruce got up from his chair and stretched, and then removed his glasses and scrubbed vigorously at his eyes with the heels of his hands. _Man, he looks tired._

"Hey," said Tony suddenly, almost before he realized what he was doing. "I know I've been kind absent when it comes to the hands-on portion of this little exercise in Caring For Your Sick War Criminal, and that's probably kinda part of the reason you look like you stepped straight outta _The Walking Dead_. I guess what I'm saying is, sick people aren't normally a thing I do, but I guess since this is giving you so much hell, I could maybe...make an exception...?" _God_ he sounded awkward. Bruce had replaced his glasses and was now looking at him with a mixture of incredulity and amusement, one eyebrow raised.

"Right now I think Thor needs a break just as much as I do, so you could see if you could just sit with Loki for awhile. His temperature was normal when I left, so he's hopefully sleeping. There's a good chance that neither of them will want to be separated, though-maybe you could set up a cot in Loki's room? I think maybe Thor would calm down enough to sleep if he knew that someone was still watching over Loki." Bruce shrugged, a little bit lost on how best to explain what he had observed about the brothers' newly reestablished relationship and too exhausted to try harder to make sense.

_Great. I have just volunteered for a shift at Loki-Watch. What the hell was I thinking?_

"Um, yeah, okay. No problemo. I can do that."

_Sure you can._

"That's really great of you. And if he wakes up, could you run him a bag of PPN? Thanks." Bruce flashed him a quick grin before heading toward the door, but then stopped and turned back around.

"Uh, Tony..." he began hesitantly.

Tony popped up an eyebrow, pretending to look like he was completely unperturbed about how he was going to spend the next few hours of his life. Bruce continued.

"You...you're gonna be okay with him having nightmares, right? You can...deal with that?"

_Aw, shit. Forgot about that. Well, I'm in too deep to get out now._

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be good. I'll be fine."

Bruce studied him for a long moment before shrugging slightly.

"Okay. Thanks again. See you in a few hours."

"Yep." Tony tapped the tips of the fleshy pads of his fingers quickly and repeatedly on the countertop until Bruce was out of earshot, and then switched to drumming his nails, so that the annoying sound could drown out the discomfort that sang a screeching, unrehearsed opera in his ears.

_Well this is great. This is just great. Rudolph's all weak and sick and not his sassy fun self, and Big Brother's probably gonna misinterpret my trying to help as an attempt to separate him from his favorite object of protection and smack me with his giant magic hammer, and then we're all gonna have a big ole' PTSD party. Yep, my kinda afternoon right there. Guess I'd better get started._

Normally, Tony would have just barged right into Loki's room-annoying the hell out of the god of mischief or (even better) catching him in a compromising state seemed like an incredibly entertaining endeavor to him. But for once, his tact held him back, and he rapped softly on the door and then took a step backward. It felt kind of weird, knocking on a door in his own tower-usually, he had the run of the place. After all this was over, he was going to have to go back to a strict no-guests policy. Bruce excepted, of course.

After several seconds, the door opened slowly to reveal a haggard-looking Thor. Bruce hadn't been kidding-the god of thunder looked even worse than the doctor had. His blonde beard had thickened from not being trimmed, his hair was mussed and his clothes were wrinkled, and his blue eyes were dull with with exhaustion and worry. He looked mildly surprised when he saw that it was Tony standing there, and he silently ushered him backward so they were both standing in the hallway, and closed the door behind him.

"My brother is asleep," he said by way of explanation, gesturing to the door. "What is it that you wish?"

"I, um, I'm here to..." _Just say it. Say the word. I know it's hard for you, because it's something you never do, but you can do it._ "...help. You haven't been sleeping a whole lot, so I came to offer to sit with Loki for a little while will you grab a nap. You look like you need it."

Thor uttered a soft growl in the back of his throat, a combination of grudging assent and unwillingness.

"While I appreciate the offer, Stark, I am afraid that I cannot accept. I mustn't leave Loki's side-he is too fragile, and too dependent upon me for comfort. He must know that I am there all of the time. I really should not even be out here with you."

"Thought you might say that. What if I made you up a cot and rolled it in here? Not your usual princely sleeping arrangements, I know, but you'd be able to stay in the same room as him. And you wouldn't have to worry about him not being looked after. I'm a good babysitter. Okay, so I've never actually babysat, but I feel like I'd be good at it. Maybe. I don't actually know. Anyway, whaddaya say? You really look like you could do with some sleep, Point Break."

Thor glowered at him for several moments before sighing softly and resignedly. "As much as it pains me to admit it, I fear I cannot continue properly caring for Loki when I am this exhausted. I must sleep. I accept your offer of help, Stark, and of the small, mobile bed. But you must promise me that you will wake me should anything go amiss with Loki. His brow feels normal just now, and so he rests, but that is likely to change swiftly, and with little warning."

Tony nodded. "Yep. Can do."

After a few minutes, he returned with a rollaway cot, complete with sheets, pillows, and blankets, a bag of Partial Parental Nutrition, and, for entertainment's sake, a StarkPad so he could read up on whatever technical subject struck his fancy-anything to distract him from the reality of what he was doing, actually. As quietly as he could, he positioned the cot on the opposite wall of the bedroom from the doorway to the bathroom. Thor, after dropping a kiss into the sleeping Loki's hair, nodded curtly but gratefully to Tony before folding his body-far too large for the short, twin-sized mattress-onto the cot and dropping off to sleep nearly immediately. The sound of his soft snoring soon filled the room. _Great. Now I have to deal with Point Break sawing logs all afternoon, and probably into the night._

Tony then turned his attention to his charge, who was curled up in an almost cat-like manner. He was not covered with nearly as many blankets as he had been the last time Tony had seen him, but he still looked as though the covers were swallowing him, like Jonah inside the whale (or Iron Man inside a Leviathan). Tony watched him for several long seconds, during which Loki seemed far too still, and suddenly Tony began to worry that he had stopped breathing-after all, he hadn't seen his chest move. But just as he was about to panic and call Bruce in, he heard Loki sigh softly through parted lips, a hoarse, weak sort of sigh that indicated absolute exhaustion.

_Thank God._ Tony heaved a sigh of his own-one of relief-and waited for his heart to stop pounding in his ears. _I guess he's just hidden so much under the blankets that it's hard to see him breathing._

"JARVIS," he murmured. "Inform me immediately of any changes in Loki's vitals, but keep the volume to 20%."

**Yes sir**, came the quiet response.

And so, while the rail-thin, pale, weary Loki slept, Tony Stark sat at his side, reading engineering papers on his StarkPad and trying to pretend that he was in his workshop, tinkering with his Alfa, and not at the sickbed of the now pitiful-pathetic, not pitiful, Tony hated pity-god who, only a matter of days ago, had stood tall and dark and _evil_, trying to take over the world and destroying New York City. Tony had never thought that he would wish for _that_ Loki back, but it had to be better than this barely-existent shell of a creature. He'd kind of enjoyed having a match of words with Loki, just prior to being defenestrated from his own penthouse. As much danger as he had been in, Tony had _liked_ having someone who was as good with words as he was to spar with and taunt, and even to be taunted back. But now his plaything was broken, and it made Tony kind of sad. Especially since he had seen, just a few nights ago on the roof, that Loki actually had _feelings_.

He pushed those thoughts away, and was actually successful in distracting himself for a couple of hours. It was nearly dark outside when, rather suddenly, Loki began to toss and turn in his bed, first whimpering and then sobbing, tears streaming down his cheeks.

_Crap. I had really hoped this wasn't going to happen. Now what?_

Tony supposed that really the only thing to do was wake Loki up. He leaned over the bed and made to lay a hand on Loki's arm, but something made him hesitate and just _look_ at the shaking, thoroughly troubled figure in the bed. Someone who would have you believe he had it all under control, if he had had the choice. Someone who valued his dignity above most other things in life. Reduced to _this_. Tony swallowed. Was this how _he_ looked when he was caught within the throes of his own dark dreams? God, he really hoped not.

Loki cried out and Tony heard Thor stir in his sleep behind him. He desperately didn't want the god of thunder to wake up to find that Tony was failing at his Loki-sitting duties. He'd never go back to sleep then. Quickly, Tony grabbed ahold of Loki's arm and shook it as hard as he could.

Loki shuddered awake, gasping for breath and staring straight in front of him for a few seconds before turning his gaze to Tony. He seemed to be trying to process what was happening, but that took too much time and too much energy, and he sank down into his pillows, too weak even to prop himself up.

"Thor..." he croaked, licking his lips and looking wildly around him into the growing darkness. The panic in his bright green eyes was quickly rising, and Tony knew he had to quell it.

"Hey, it's okay. Your big brother's right over there, see?" He leaned sideways and motioned to the wall behind him. "Thor was really tired so he's sleeping, but he's right there. So you're okay now, right?"

Tony saw recognition flicker in Loki's eyes as he recognized Thor's form, snoring away, on the cot along the wall. While he did seem to relax just a little, it was obvious from the way he curled in on himself and stared longingly at his brother that he wanted Thor to be holding him right at that moment. Tony uttered a little sigh.

"Do you want me to get him? He'll wake up if I say you need him, trust me." He winced slightly-the bruise he had gotten from slamming into Thor's nightstand hadn't quite healed yet. He knew that if he woke up Thor now, his whole attempt at helping would have kind of gone to waste, but looking at the weak, frightened Loki, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to deny him his brother's comfort.

But, much to Tony's surprise, Loki whispered, "No. He...Thor should sleep. I've kept him awake for far too long. I will...I will be all right." He curled up even tighter, hiding his face from Tony. Tony could tell he was trying desperately to disguise the way his breath hitched from sobs, and how his body still shook with the memories of his dream. Sweat had broken out on his forehead-Tony hoped it was a result of the dream and not a symptom of whatever had been going on with him lately, but at the moment he was too wary of the upset Loki's potential negative reaction to touch his forehead or even prompt JARVIS to give him a readout. Better to wait a few minutes, until Loki had calmed down a little.

And so Tony sat in silence for several minutes, looking around the bedroom-at the dresser, the ceiling, the sleeping Thor, the carpet, frankly anywhere but at Loki-while the shaken god tried to collect himself. Caught between the horrible awkwardness of the situation and his promise to stay with Loki, Tony had to fight harder to stay put and not run out of the room with every muted sob and irregular, shuddering breath he heard from the section of the bedroom he was trying _very_ hard not to look at. Finally, after a period of silence that on his part lasted nearly half a minute, Loki murmured, his tired voice lacking any trace of malice or resentment,

"I suppose you are here to watch over me?"

Tony did turn toward him then, and he found that Loki's green eyes, dulled with weariness, were looking into his own. They seemed to hold very little..._anything_, and Tony had to admit that that _scared_ him. The Loki he was used to was a constant geyser of raw emotion-anger, hatred, ambitious desire, vengeful drive, desperate, frightened, loving toward Thor. But the only words to describe the current state of Loki's feelings seemed to be _beaten down_ and _resigned_.

_Either he's given up completely or he doesn't want me to see just how scared he really is._ Tony honestly wasn't sure which at this point.

"Uh, yeah." Tony got to his feet and began to prepare the drip set to run the PPN. "Thunder Boy and Doctor Horrible needed some sleep, so I got stuck with Loki-sitting duty. Lucky me." He silently cursed himself even as the words left his mouth. Jokes were probably a bad idea right now-no doubt any semblance of a sense of humor Loki might once have had was completely gone by this point. But it wasn't like Tony could help it-he was actually really unnerved by how low Loki had been brought, and cracking jokes were just how he dealt with stuff like this. It didn't mean he wasn't sorry, but it was an indisputable part of his life. He kicked himself mentally while he injected a syringe of flush into Loki's catheter, and then inserted the needle and started the flow of fluid before sitting back down in the chair beside the bed.

But Loki didn't respond, either to Tony's touch or his crack. Not even a glare. Instead, he just nodded slowly against his pillow and closed his eyes without further comment, as though their short conversation had completely worn him out. Tony recalled how sick he had thought Loki looked a few nights ago out on the roof, just before his condition had worsened so drastically. That was nothing compared to how he appeared now, only a matter of days later, and suddenly it occurred to Tony that soon Loki would deteriorate so much that he would simply cease to be. It was a more painful realization than he would have thought, and the conversation he'd had with Bruce about "fixing" their resident supervillain came to the forefront of his memory.

And then the ever-inquisitive, insatiably curious Tony Stark absolutely _had_ to know the truth. Not because he had to have proof that they were the only superheroes ever to not only defeat their villain but also bring him to their side and therefore the best superheroes ever (although that would be pretty cool). He had to know for the sake of his friend Thor, who was kind and loved his little brother, and of the weak, broken creature lying curled up in the bed in front of him.

"So, you and Thor...you're cool now?" _Bad word choice there, Tony. Really bad._ "I mean, you're okay? You're not, like, mortal enemies anymore?"

"We were never mortal enemies," murmured Loki, without opening his eyes. He sounded so tired that for a second, Tony actually regretted asking and interrupting this little time he had to rest. But after a short pause, as though he were gathering his strength, Loki continued.

"He never ceased believing in my goodness, and that my mind would someday be healed, no matter how lost and embittered I became. Or how much I blamed him, mostly undeservedly, for my grievances. Thor has been so very good to me-caring for me and...comforting me, and I am incredibly grateful. But in answer to your question, no-we are no longer enemies. Quite the opposite, I suppose."

Tony wanted to make some kind of crack about lovers being the opposite of enemies, but in another rare display of tact he decided against it. Loki probably couldn't take that sort of accusation right now, no matter how joking it may be. Before he could figure out exactly how to respond, he was surprised to see Loki finally open his eyes and speak again-quietly, painfully, resignedly, but quite clearly.

"I know what is happening to me, Stark. I do not know _why_ it is happening, although I suppose at this point that does not matter. Not so long ago, there was a time I wished for death so badly that I tried to bring it upon myself. But now that it is beyond my control, I find the prospect...terrifying." He paused and closed his eyes for a moment, drawing a shaking breath. "But having my brother here makes it just the tiniest bit more bearable, I suppose."

Tony suddenly imagined how much _lighter_ he would feel if he were to relate to Pepper-the person who could make it all bearable for _him_-his insecurities associated with a certain extended stay in Afghanistan. How sometimes, he would wake thinking he was still trapped there, hooked up to a car battery and unable to run because there were a hundred guns trained on his damaged heart. How gunfire and the sounds of explosions, once the very things that fed his fortune, now spooked him and sent his mind spiraling back to the day of his capture. How he still, deep down, believed himself responsible for the death of Yinsen, the man who had saved his life and made Iron Man possible.

Heavy stuff, yeah. But Loki's baggage was even heavier, Tony realized. The guy was _dying_, for God's sake. And yet somehow through all that fear and betrayal, he could let Thor in. It didn't really make sense to Tony.

"But what about how Thor feels? It can't be easy for him to see you...like this. I mean, he likes you a lot. Doesn't it bother you that by letting him comfort you, you're putting him through watching you _die_?"

He hadn't meant to be so blunt. Honestly, he hadn't. But then again, maybe the time for tact was over. After all, Loki didn't really have time for tact. Tony was acutely aware of how emotionally exposed they both were. He was coming the closest to baring his soul he had in a very long time, pushed out of his comfort zone by the dramatic change in Loki. And Loki, normally so quick to act based upon how he felt and to make his feelings known no matter what it took, was beaten down and broken by illness and weariness, barely able to muster up the strength it took to tell Tony what he apparently thought he needed to hear.

It was really, really weird. Tony didn't like it. Why had he volunteered to hang out in here again?

"I suppose I am being terribly selfish that way," said Loki quietly, his eyes cast downward. "But it is in my nature, I suppose. I did try to claim an entire realm as my own."

_Whoa. What the actual hell did I just do?_ Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was Loki actually talking himself _down_? Or had that self-loathing actually been there all along, buried beneath layer upon layer of ambition and snark and hatred of everyone else?

"Look, that's not what I...I didn't mean that. You're the most important thing in Thor's life. It's obvious how much he loves you-more than his hammer and Poptarts combined, I think. And he's one of those people who just has that need to comfort people, you know? So, I think being able to take care of you makes him feel better somehow. I guess watching you...watching _it_ happen is better to him than knowing it's happening and not being able to be there for you."

_Wow_, he was being touchy-feely today.

He saw Loki's gaze flick over to rest on Thor, who was still snoring away on the other side of the room, and Tony couldn't _not_ notice the tears that pricked at the edges of his eyes. It was the first display of real emotion Tony had seen from Loki that day, not counting just after waking up from the nightmare. He just _looked_ at Thor for several seconds, wearing his grief like a mask. Then, swallowing hard, Loki turned his eyes back toward his sheets, as though he didn't feel mentally prepared to make eye contact with Tony.

"I am tired," he whispered. "I wish to sleep again."

"Um, yeah. Okay." Tony had to admit that he was glad to hear of that particular decision. He didn't think he could take much more sad talk.

But as much as he tried to turn his thoughts toward happier things-fixing the city, his Alfa, stuff like that-he found he couldn't shake his troubled feelings. He couldn't stop thinking about what had passed between himself and Loki regarding comfort and selfishness. Tony really believed that Thor's constant presence at Loki's side was beneficial for both parties involved. So then, by the processes of logic, shouldn't confiding in Pepper about his own...he was loathe to call them "insecurities"..._problems_ also be better for the both of them?

But that wasn't who Tony _was_. He liked to encourage people, like he had with Bruce by lending him a listening ear and then helping him see how far he was coming and how he could come to terms with the Other Guy. Tony Stark built people up-he didn't weigh them down with his own problems. It just wasn't his niche. Pepper worried enough about him as it was, and she had plenty of problems of her own, what with running an enormous company and everything. He _would_ be being selfish if he dredged up all this crap from his past.

The PPN had run through the bag and was now disappearing down the tube of the drip set, so Tony quickly rose to stop the flow before air could get inside the catheter. Loki appeared to have fallen asleep, and did not react when Tony pulled the needle out of his arm. _I wish I could go back to sleep that fast after having a nightmare,_ thought Tony sarcastically. But his cynicism was tempered by the realization that the only reason Loki had fallen asleep so quickly was sheer exhaustion-he literally didn't have the strength to stay awake. He'd lost so much ground so fast.

Then came the abrupt realization of how sad it was that Loki had only been able to open up to Thor as he was dying. Judging by the story Thor had told them the night he and Loki had arrived at the tower, Loki had been holding so much hurt inside that Tony was surprised he hadn't exploded, or crumbled from the inside out.

And then, before he could stop it, Tony's active imagination was picturing himself on his deathbed, his pallor sickly like Loki's, his arc reactor flickering. Pepper sat beside him, holding his hand, tears streaming down her face. And inside, all he could feel was a sense of incompleteness, like he was dying without having put everything he could into his relationship with one person who meant more to him than anything in the world. If he couldn't trust her with this, this intimate part of his own heart, how could _she_ possibly trust _him_? They were stuck in a rut made of stubbornness and fear. It was a dreary place, and it was time he took some risks to get them out.

He took his phone out of his pocket and keyed a text message to Pepper.

_Miss you. Coming home soon? We need to talk._

It wasn't until after he hit "send" that he realized how terribly that phrase could be misinterpreted. What was that, like the most cliche break-up phrase _ever_? He quickly typed another message.

_Not in the way you're thinking. Promise._

Immediately after that one had gone through, he thought of one more thing to add. Hopefully Pep wouldn't mind him spamming her inbox.

_I love you._

Putting his phone back in his pocket, Tony glanced at Loki, who was still sleeping soundly, curled up on his side. Tony sighed sadly and whispered,

"Thanks, buddy. You're really not so bad, when you get down to it. I just hope this somehow turns out okay for all of us."

He half expected Loki to pop open an eye and mock him mercilessly for such an open display of sentiment. Or half _hoped_, maybe. But Loki did not so much as stir and Tony could not deny that his heart sank a little.

But rather than dwell on it, he made himself think of Pepper, and what he was going to say to her. He passed several hours that way until Thor awoke to take over the watch, and the last thing he saw in his mind's eye before he drifted off to sleep late that night was Pepper's face, looking into his with affection and acceptance and trust.

Sentiment. Yeah.

Maybe it wasn't always such a bad thing.


	18. Chapter 18

**And now we take a break from our regularly schedule Loki whump to bring you some STEVE! Because he's been terribly neglected this story. Sorry, Steve (and Steve fans). But here he is!**

Steve Rogers wasn't exactly sure how he'd ended up back here. After the battle, he'd meant to go and see the world, like Fury had said he should. He'd gone as far as Toronto before something made him turn his little motorcycle around and head back to New York City. He couldn't really explain it. When the fighting had finished, he had realized just how lucky he was to be alive after everything that had happened to him-the war, the crash, being frozen for seventy years, and now fighting an army of aliens-and suddenly he'd had a burning desire to make up for lost time. But somewhere along the way (probably on the unbelievably cold roads of Canada), he'd lost that desire. How could he gain joy from the beauty of places all around the world when his own city-for changed though it was, he still considered New York _his_ city-lay in shambles? Steve had never been a man who played before he finished his work, and this was no different.

So he'd turned around and come back home. Except he'd forgotten one important detail-he didn't actually _have_ a home. He'd taken off right after the battle, so full of anticipation of his journey that living arrangements for when he returned hadn't even crossed his mind. Two places he could go entered his thoughts, and he'd juggled with them for quite some time. The first and most obvious was the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. He had no doubts that Nick Fury would set him up with whatever he needed. Despite the secrets he kept, Steve thought that Fury seemed like a fundamentally good guy, and he knew that he would repay Steve's loyalty and willingness to assist the department. But there again, something had stopped him. As convenient as they were, he didn't really _want_ to get involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. again, or at least not just yet. Call him old-fashioned, but he wasn't really comfortable with the way the department had kept pertinent information from the American people. That just wasn't how the country's government was meant to operate.

And so he'd gone with Option Two. He'd wrestled with the idea for a long time. He was not perfectly sure he'd even be welcome there, despite what he'd been told. It wasn't like he and his potential host had never had any form of...confrontation.

But all the same, now he found himself standing at the front door of Stark Tower. Not seeing a doorbell, and not knowing what else to do, Steve Rogers lifted a tentative fist and knocked.

For several seconds, nothing happened. Steve began to feel anxious, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other repeatedly. He was just about to turn around and head for the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters after all when one of the enormous wooden doors opened of its own accord and a disembodied voice with a distinctly British accent said,

**Greetings, Captain Rogers, and welcome to Stark Tower. If you will please proceed down the hall and through the first doorway on your right, Mr. Stark will be with you momentarily.**

Startled, Steve jumped a little. He glanced quickly around him, fully aware of how stupid he must look but trying desperately to find the source of the voice anyway.

"Who...who are you?"

**I am JARVIS, sir. My name is an acronym for Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, and I am Mr. Stark's Artificial Intelligence butler.**

"Artificial Intelligence? You mean, like a robot or something?" Steve remembered robots as being nothing more than speculation, something people talked about as being a whimsical fantasy of something that might happen in the far future. So _of course_ they would have robots in this modern time. And somehow this one knew his name.

**Something like that, sir.**

Steve could have sworn the robot butler sounded almost amused, and briefly he wondered if Stark had programmed the thing to be like him, including possessing his love for teasing Steve. Well, this was just fantastic. The bodiless voice interrupted his thoughts.

**Captain Rogers, if you will please proceed down the hall...**

"I'm going." Steve cut JARVIS off and, with one final glance at the motorcycle parked in the street, he entered Stark Tower and allowed the door to close behind him.

After taking the first doorway as instructed, Steve found himself in a luxuriously trimmed room that resembled a sitting room, except for the enormous flat-screen television mounted on the wall. He sank down into a spacious leather armchair, clasped his hands in front of and waited.

Tony Stark entered less than a minute later, looking simultaneously surprised, gladdened, and, or at least Steve thought, a little nervous.

_Why would he be nervous? He certainly doesn't usually show that kind of thing. He's probably the most flippant person I've ever met._

"Well, if it isn't our favorite token American." The tease was uttered with a tone of affection, and Steve found himself grinning. "I wasn't expecting to see you here, or at least not for awhile."

Steve felt his smile fall. Why hadn't he thought to call first? Where the manners his mother had put such effort into teaching him? Stark obviously noticed his reaction and shook his head.

"It's all good. This place is always open to you. It's a hell of a lot nicer than any hole-in-the-wall S.H.I.E.L.D. would put you up in, anyway. So...what happened to the world tour?" Tony motioned for Steve to sit back down before heading over to press his hand on a large painting of a waterfall on the wall. To Steve's shock, the painting swung forward to reveal a minifridge, and from it Stark withdrew a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He poured the alcohol and handed one glass to Steve before plopping down in a chair with his own drink.

"It's going to happen," said Steve, and he really did mean it. "I guess it turned out now's just not the right time."

Stark nodded thoughtfully. "So 'now' just happened to be the right time to come hang out and my tower? Which is fine, by the way, I'm just curious." He suddenly seemed to find something very interesting in the way his scotch swirled around in his glass as he moved his hand in small, tight circles. Something was definitely weird. Had Steve come at a bad time?

"I...I don't know. I don't really have anywhere else to go, honestly. I guess I thought maybe we could start cleaning up the city. Thought since you're the guy with all the technology, you might have some ideas."

"Yeah, I was kinda working on that for awhile." Stark took a sip of his drink.

"I'm assuming you're using the past tense for a reason." Steve cocked an eyebrow.

"It's only a temporary hiatus." Again, Stark was studying his drink. What _had_ Steve walked in on? He decided to change the subject and watch Stark for clues.

"Is Dr. Banner still staying here?"

"Oh, yeah. He's having a great time. Ten floors of R and D are every scientist's dream." Tony grinned widely, but something about the smile seemed forced.

"So...he's doing well?" Steve observed Stark's reaction carefully.

"Yeah, Bruce is fine. Got a whole tower to run around in and experiment on. He'll be busy for a few months just trying out all the machines." A chuckle, also forced. Although he couldn't be entirely sure, Steve didn't think Stark was lying. Judging by the currently intact state of the tower, it was a fair guess that there had not been any Hulk-related incidents. He breathed a mental sigh of relief and decided to try another angle.

"So, just the two of you guys? Until I showed up, that is?" He thought he'd heard something about a personal assistant, or a live-in girlfriend, or possibly both. But he wasn't going explicitly down _that_ road.

"So how long were you thinking of staying?" Stark completely ignored his question, as though he hadn't even heard him, and that was when Steve knew for a fact that he'd hit on something. He was about to press the matter when Bruce Banner walked through the door.

"Hey Tony, JARVIS said you were here...whoa." The surprise on the doctor's face was evident when he noticed Steve's presence, and he took a step backward and blinked. "Captain Rogers...hi."

Steve rose from his chair to shake Banner's hand.

"Dr. Banner, it's good to see you."

"Yeah...you too." His smile, like Stark's, seemed forced, and that was when Steve decided that he _definitely_ needed to find out what he'd walked in on, and fix it. Seeing Stark be uncomfortable could be genuinely amusing, but Banner? Not only was it potentially dangerous, but he was really just too much of a good guy. Steve lowered himself back into his chair, and, after some hesitation, Banner took a seat as well.

"Listen guys, I know not everyone's as good at keeping secrets as S.H.I.E.L.D., but, with all due respect, you've really hit a low point."

He saw Banner pale slightly and exchange a quick, somewhat frantic glance with Stark, who took an exceptionally large swig of scotch.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the billionaire deadpanned.

Steve sighed. "Come on, I know there's something you're hiding from me. I know we're not the only three people in this tower. I may not be have a Ph.D. or be a certifiable genius, but I can pick out a badly kept secret when I see one."

"Look, you oversized Boy Scout, I don't know what the hell you're trying to imply..." Stark began to take the offensive, but next to him, Banner held up an inhibitory hand. Steve was surprised that Stark actually silenced, although the expression on his face suggested that he was pouting. Steve turned his attention to the doctor.

"Dr. Banner?"

Banner's sigh sounded resigned and tired, and he took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose and scrub at his eyes.

"Look, Captain..."

"You can call me Steve." If they were going to share secrets, Steve thought they could at least be on first-name terms. They had, after all, defeated an intergalactic enemy together.

Banner nodded in acknowledgement. "Steve. Before we all went our separate ways, Tony said that this tower would always be open to any member of the Avengers whenever they needed it."

Steve nodded. That was the reason he'd come there that day. "I remember."

"Well, you weren't the first of us to randomly show up looking for a place to stay. And I think the first person was...actually kind of the last person we were all expecting."

Steve's eyes widened. He could only be talking about one person.

"You mean _Thor's_ here?" Banner nodded. "Hey, this is great! Where is he?" Steve paused and looked between Banner and Stark, and realized that they did not at all seem to share his enthusiasm. Then he started really thinking.

"Hang on a second. I thought the reason Thor had to use the Tesseract to get back to Asgard was because it was the only way for him to travel between here and there. How is he here?" Then a more important question popped into Steve's mind. "And _why_ is he here?"

Another one of those uncomfortable glances passed between the other two people in the room with him.

"It's kind of a long story," said Stark sullenly.

"Tony, if he's going to be here for any period of time, he has to know."

"How do you know he won't..."

"Because he _won't_," said Banner emphatically. This was all becoming rather frustrating for Steve.

"I won't _what_? Guys, what the heck is going on?!"

"Loki's here too."

And suddenly Steve's world was spinning. He lifted a trembling glass of scotch to his lips.

Banner glared caustically at Stark. "Really? You couldn't just _ease_ the news onto him? Do you possess, or have you ever possessed, an _ounce_ of tact?"

"There was no way to break that gently! Eventually the name 'Loki' was going to have to come up, and then all hell would break loose anyway! I need more scotch."

Stark started to rise, but Steve called out to stop him.

"Wait, wait, wait. You mean to tell me you're harboring a _war criminal_ in your tower? And not just any war criminal. Guys, he just tried to destroy Manhattan! He tried to take over the world! We sent him back to Asgard to let them deal with him! So why is he _here_?"

"Oh, Asgard dealt with him, alright. They dealt with him rather thoroughly." Banner did not seem to be consciously aware of the fact that he was clenching his fists, and Steve couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Stark, however, was suddenly the picture of calm.

"Hey, Big Guy. Gotta stay focused, remember? You're gonna figure this out."

Banner sighed and shook his head, but the steam seemed to have gone out of his anger.

"What? Asgard dealt...figure _what_ out?" As much as Steve hated being the only person in the room not to understand a reference (which was happening far too much lately), this was by far the worst of such experiences he had ever had. "Why the hell is Loki here? Surely you guys have to realize he's dangerous?!"

"That's just it," said Banner softly, staring at the plush carpet. "He's not dangerous. At all." He gave a humorless, ironic chuckle. "I almost wish he was-it would be better than this." He looked up at Steve then, his brown eyes saddened.

"I think he might be dying."

And then Banner and Stark took turns telling Steve everything. How Thor had told the story of Loki's origins and Loki being stripped of his magic and then punished using a nightmare from the point of view of every single person he had hurt. How the two gods had shown up at the front door, much like Steve had, and how sick Loki had looked from the beginning. How the strange symptoms had begun with a slight fever and mild chills but quickly progressed to something far worse. How Thor had quite by accident alienated Loki even further and how, in a fit of desperation, Loki had asked for him and begged his forgiveness, and the two brothers had been reconciled. How Thor had not left Loki's side since then, watching over him as his condition deteriorated. How Banner had been working tirelessly, attempting to discern the cause of it all, but thus far to no avail.

"I just don't know what else to try," Banner finished with a sigh and a shake of his head. "I don't know how much Loki's actually changed, but I do know that he loves Thor enough that the knowledge that Thor will grieve when he dies is hurting him more than the actual fact that he's dying. And, to me at least, that's enough to want to help him. Call me sentimental, but I can't help but hope that if I just put all I have into helping him, maybe he'll live and turn over a new leaf. But every day that's looking less and less likely."

Banner finished, and then both he and Stark were looking at Steve, waiting for his reaction. He hadn't said anything during the course of the story-he had been attempting to let it all sink in. But now he realized the time for that was over, and he had to react.

"I...wow." Steve blinked and shook his head. "Either he's got some kind of spell on all of you and is going for some really strange trick, or that's a pretty incredible story. And S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't know anything about this?"

"They don't even know Thor and Loki are back on Midgard...I mean Earth," said Stark, his tone severe. "And if you tell them, much as I like you, I'll find you and..."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Steve held up a hand in a manner resembling a crossing guard. "I'm not going to tell them. I promise. Actually, I'd kind of like to help, if there's any way I can. New beginnings are kind of my thing, after all." He was being sincere. The story Stark and Banner had told had touched his heart. He was a big softie, he knew, but...maybe Banner was right. Maybe, if Loki managed to survive whatever sickness was plaguing him, he'd end up changing his ways. It was optimistic, yeah, but anything was possible. And Steve genuinely liked Thor, and he knew what it was like to lose someone very close to him. He didn't want Thor to have to go through what he had with Bucky, especially since he had apparently mourned Loki's death once already.

Banner aimed a small smile his direction. "That's really great Cap...uh, Steve. And thanks. I'll let you know if there's anything you can do." He glanced at his digital wristwatch. "I should go check on them upstairs. I'll catch you guys later."

Steve and Stark waved to the doctor as he left the room, and then Stark quickly turned around to regard Steve critically, with one eyebrow raised.

"So that's it? You're just automatically completely cool with this?"

"Well, isn't that kind of how it went for you guys? I mean, it sounds like Loki went through some pretty heavy stuff. It's kind of hard not to route for him."

"But what about everything he did? All the people he hurt and killed? Like Coulson, for instance? And the city? He pretty much destroyed a large portion of New York."

Steve furrowed his brow. "Hang on. I don't understand. Why are you questioning me like this when you obviously decided to ignore all that way before I did? Who let him into their tower in the first place, Stark?"

Stark glared furiously at him for a moment, but then sighed and sank back into his chair.

"I don't know, to be honest with you."

Steve waited for him to continue, but Stark provided nothing else. It just didn't seem right.

"What, that's it? No arguing or name-calling or threatening to put on the suit? You're just giving up? What the hell happened to you, Stark?" He was asking for a fight, and he knew it, but he didn't care. He just wanted to know what had caused this sudden change in the Tony Stark he'd thought he knew.

Stark did get up to refill his drink then. He poured the scotch slowly, in silence, and he didn't offer Steve any. Then he sat back down and drank deeply, letting the effects of the hard liquor wash over him for several moments before he finally responded.

"I guess I'm less sure about all this than I thought I was. You walked in here and I thought 'Hey, here's another opportunity for me to snap out of this crazy shit I've gotten myself into'. I thought you were gonna go batshit. I mean, it's _Loki_, for Christ's sake. I thought you were gonna say 'But what about all those people? And Coulson? And New York City?' Because that's what my mind was saying when he showed up, but I still let him walk right through that door. Hell, I _invited_ him in. But this whole time I've been going 'Tony, are you sure this is a good idea?' But then you were _okay_ with it, which I totally wasn't expecting. And I'm just not sure what to do now. Except get hammered, I guess." He took another drink to prove his point.

Steve blinked. Tony Stark, of all people, had just been incredibly open and honest with him. He was aware that he needed to consider his next words very carefully before he spoke them, so he was silent for several seconds before finally saying, slowly and thoughtfully,

"Maybe it just means you were right to begin with. That it's time to stop doubting and just go with it. I know you and I don't always see eye-to-eye on certain things involving our beliefs..." Stark scoffed and rolled his eyes, but Steve ignored him. "...but I've always believed that everything happens for a reason, and that there's a master plan. This is going to work out the way it's supposed to, no matter what ending that turns out to be. And for what it's worth, I think you did the right thing. You saw someone hurting and you helped them, even though they'd done you wrong in the past. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that."

Stark was silent for several seconds, staring into his glass as he swirled what little remained of his second glass of scotch around its bottom. Then he said, with a small grin and just the slightest touch of his old humor,

"My dad always said you had the morals of the Pope. I always thought he was exaggerating until I actually met you." He swallowed down the last of his scotch and then pushed himself out of his chair and offered a hand to Steve.

"Come on. I guess we'd better get you set up in a guest room."


	19. Chapter 19

**So things go down in this chapter. :D There is MAJOR angst, and best of all, many of you will get to see whether or not the predictions you've been making the entire story are true! So, read, review, and enjoy!**

Thor supposed he was guilty of hoping that, if he ignored a problem, it would go away.

Case in point was how he had always been almost subconsciously aware of how differently his parents (along with everyone else in Asgard) had treated Loki all throughout their lives. He had been aware of Loki's discontent, but he had thought that if maybe he just pretended that the problem wasn't there, it would somehow miraculously vanish. Thor liked it when all was well in his world, so when it was not, he simply pretended that it was.

Obviously, that strategy had not worked at all when it came to Loki. So he knew that he should not be employing it now, but he just could not bring himself to face the truth.

He was going to lose his Loki.

He knew it. He knew it in his heart when Loki looked into his eyes, terrified and hurting. He knew that Loki knew it too. Dr. Banner had tried his best, but the fact remained that Midgardian medicine just did not encompass whatever ailed Loki. The problem was, neither did Asgardian medicine. While Thor was certainly no expert healer, he did know that Asgardian medicine did not affect mortals in the same way it did the Aesir, and Loki was now mortal. Whatever Eir could try on Loki could just as easily kill him as heal him. And even if the answer did lie on Asgard, with the Bifrost gone there was no way Thor could transport Loki back home. The spell that Odin had used to send them to Midgard had left Thor himself dizzy and somewhat nauseous for several minutes. There was no way that Loki, as weak as he was, could ever survive that now. They were out of options.

But as Thor held Loki to his chest as he shivered from the ever-worsening chills, feeling his brother's heart beat too quickly against his own and hearing Loki's soft sobs of agony and fear as he clutched weakly at his shirt, Thor tried again to forget the truth. He knew that he would have to face it, but he also knew that right now Loki needed him to be strong. If there was nothing else Thor could do for his brother, then he would at the very least be there for him.

Loki's temperature had begun to drop only about two hours prior, and now he was down to ninety-two point four degrees Fahrenheit. It was the lowest number Thor had heard the bodiless servant read out so far, and as far as he knew Loki was still getting colder. Dr. Banner had been providing them with freshly warmed bags of Lactated Ringer's solution to use as hot water bottles every ten minutes, and had even tried running one of them through Loki's catheter. Thor had kept both himself and Loki wrapped in several blankets, but nothing seemed to have any effect.

Thor was simultaneously trying to warm his brother and distract himself by rubbing Loki's upper arms when Loki asked softly,

"Thor, when are we going home?"

Confused, Thor furrowed his brow and studied his brother's face.

"I did not think you wanted to go home, Loki. I thought you were still angry with Fath...with Odin."

"But I miss Mother." Loki's voice was plaintive, and Thor felt his heart give a squeeze at the realization that Loki and their mother would probably never see each other again.

"Oh, my love. You know we cannot go home just now. You are so unwell that I fear the spell the Allfather used to get us here would be too much for you."

"But Thor..." Now it was Loki's turn to look confused. "We came here by the Bifrost, not by a spell."

Thor felt slightly nauseous. Loki could not simply have forgotten that little detail of their journey. They had destroyed the Bifrost together as they fought.

"No, Loki," he corrected gently, "the Bifrost got broken, remember? The Allfather had to use one of your spells to send us to Midgard." Thor watched his brother think about this for several seconds. Finally, Loki blinked and said simply,

"Oh." Then he pressed himself into Thor's chest with a whimper. "Thor, I feel _so_ cold."

Thor sighed sadly. "I know, Loki. I know." He allowed Loki to position himself in his arms in the way he felt most comfortable, and then leaned over his brother's slight frame to cover him as much as he could. He had been on enough military missions in the wilderness of Asgard, which could get quite cold at night, to know that confusion was a symptom of dangerously low body temperature. So were faltering, slow movements-Loki appeared to be struggling to curl up against him, as though he could not figure out how to maneuver his long limbs where and how he wanted them.

"Thor?" Loki's soft voice interrupted his inner lamentations.

"Yes, Loki?" His attention was immediately on his brother. At this point he would do anything he asked.

"Will you...will you talk to me?"

"About what?" Thor brushed a lock of black hair that had fallen in Loki's eyes behind his ear. It grieved him that, despite the little time he had left with his brother, he could not think of anything to say to him. _No. I mustn't think that way._

"I want to hear stories of home. Can...can you tell me a story, Thor? Like one of the ones Volstagg used to tell?"

Thor shut his eyes for a moment, the memories of his childhood washing over him. Volstagg, now one of his bravest warriors, was the eldest of their little group of friends, and had been a large, hairy teenager whilst the rest of them were children. He had a particular talent for telling tales, and Thor could recall many an occasion when he and his brother had sat with their friends Sif, Fandral, and Hogun around the fire, listening wide-eyed as Volstagg related stories of faraway lands and brave warriors or adventurers. When Loki was small, he used to sit on Thor's lap during the tales, and he would squeeze Thor's hand if the story got too frightening for his active imagination.

Thor recalled a story about a sorcerer who had gone from kingdom to kingdom seeking to make his fortune. It had always been Loki's favorite when they were children, and he told it then to the best of his ability. And all the while, Loki listened with his head pressed against his chest, and Thor could not help but think of the horrible irony of his little brother sitting in his lap and squeezing his hand. _Because the frightening parts are not in the story this time. They are happening in real life. I can't just end the story and make everything all right again._

"I know I don't tell it nearly as well as Volstagg," said Thor when he had finished. A large part of the reason for the less-than-optimal telling was probably because he had needed to fight to keep his voice steady throughout the entire relation of the tale. "But, I hope you liked it anyway."

Loki did not respond. Thor felt his heart rate quicken with fear as he shook his brother, trying to remain gentle while getting his attention.

"Loki?"

"Mmm?" Loki blinked and looked up at him blearily. He looked even paler than he already had, and he seemed to be having difficulty holding his head upright to look at Thor. And when Thor drew him close once more, he could feel his heart rate against his chest, and he could tell that it had slowed.

"Sleepy," murmured Loki against Thor's shirt. "Must...need to sleep...now..."

"No no, Loki." Thor desperately pulled his brother away from his chest and held him so he was sitting upright and facing him. Loki seemed unable to keep his eyes open, and Thor felt panic beginning to rise in his heart and stomach. "You mustn't go to sleep now, Loki. Brother, you must stay with me!" Loki shook his head a little, resisting Thor's pleas. "I know you think you just feel sleepy, but this is your body shutting down, Loki! You must stay awake!"

"It...it is all right, Thor," said Loki. It seemed to be difficult for him to string words together in the form of a sentence. "I just...will take a short nap...that is all..."

Thor realized that he was fighting a losing battle. Loki just did not have the strength to keep going. He needed to rest, and Thor knew that he could only keep him from doing so for so long. He swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat and whispered,

"All right. You may sleep. But...just promise me you will wake up again. Can you promise me that, Loki?"

For a brief moment, Loki's mind appeared to clear, and his eyes met Thor's with a kind of horrible understanding and acute regret.

"I will try," he whispered, his voice breaking. And then those viridian eyes closed again, and Loki was asleep against Thor's chest.

And try as he might, Thor could not shake the horrible, sickening feeling that those might have been the last words his little brother would ever speak to him.

~~~_The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~_

Bruce drank his coffee in silence. In between sips, he simply stared over the rim of his mug at the wall across the lounge. But try as he might to block out all thoughts and render his active mind blank, he found it impossible. There were far too many things roiling around in his brain for that.

A couple of seats over to his left, Steve was holding his own coffee mug with both hands, looking just as solemn as Bruce, if a bit less tired.

"How long?" he asked softly, breaking a long silence.

The spell shattered, Bruce blinked and turned to look at him. He wasn't angry or annoyed at him for the comment, nor was he relieved. He didn't feel anything. It was weird.

"I don't know." It was an honest answer. "It could be days, or it could be tonight." He took another sip.

Tony, who sat on Bruce's right side on the couch, had foregone coffee altogether in favor of whiskey. As much of it as he had ingested, he seemed to be having a difficult time getting drunk. He got up silently to refill his glass yet another time. He hadn't said a word the entire night, and that freaked Bruce out a little.

"I hate admitting defeat," said Bruce softly, and even as he said the word, he felt his heart sink down into his shoes.

Steve leaned over to pat his arm comfortingly. "You tried harder than anyone else would have. You did everything you could."

"But if it wasn't enough, then what does it matter? I still failed everyone-Loki, Thor...myself..." He forced a humorless chuckle and seriously considered taking Tony's whiskey glass out of his hand and polishing it off himself.

"You didn't fail," Steve began encouragingly, but Bruce cut him off.

"Yes, I did. This isn't war, where you can call a truce and everyone's at least somewhat satisfied. In medicine, there's either success or failure. There is no in between. Either people die, or they live. And this sure as hell doesn't look like a success to me." He broke off, the weight of what he'd said catching up to him. It didn't help that Steve looked like a kicked puppy. "Sorry. That was harsh."

"No, you're right," said Steve softly. "This isn't something I know anything about-not from the doctor's perspective, anyway. I just wish you wouldn't blame yourself."

Bruce sighed, utterly defeated. "And _I_ wish I was _capable_ of not blaming myself. But I don't think either of our wishes are going to come true tonight, Captain. Unless you happen to have Loki's magic hidden somewhere on you so you can miraculously fix all this."

He heard the clinking of a glass being set on the coffee table, and when he turned he saw that Tony had sat forward, his eyes wide.

"Oh my God. That's it." They were the first words his normally talkative friend had said all night long. Bruce and Steve both raised an eyebrow, confused and mildly concerned.

"Bruce." Tony seemed unable to believe that he had whatever knowledge of which he had just come into possession.

"Yeah...?"

"We've been spending so much time trying to figure out _why_ Loki's sick that we were completely overlooking the question of _what's_ making him sick," said Tony quickly. "It's his _magic_-or rather, his lack of it. Thor said Odin took away Loki's magic when they got back to Asgard. _Something_ about having his magic keeps him from...not being sick like this. The reason Thor didn't know about it is because it has something to do with Loki being a Frost Giant or Jotun or whatever. He's _not_ like Thor, or at least not in that way. And more importantly, he's not like _Odin_. His magic is central to his physiology. Take that away, and things start to really go haywire. That's why his symptoms aren't like anything we know about-because no human has ever had to deal with the loss of their magic."

Tony finally stopped for air then, and he looked very proud of himself. Bruce's mind was analyzing his friend's every word as he spoke, processing this new information and going through every door it opened up. He thought back to the very first time Loki had displayed symptoms. They had been sitting in that very room, watching a movie. Loki had complained of feeling too hot and blamed it on the tower being too hot, but Tony had proved otherwise by asking JARVIS to report the temperature. JARVIS was the tower's thermostat.

And suddenly Bruce had the missing piece of the puzzle.

"The magic was his internal thermostat. When I asked Loki what the normal body temperature of a Jotun was, he said that they unconsciously thermoregulate. He has an internal thermostat, and by taking away his magic, Odin broke it. No, that's not quite right..." If the thermostat had just ceased to function, Loki would not be feeling such extremes of hot and cold while in Tony's climate-controlled tower. "It's like someone's programming the wrong numbers into the thermostat. It's a positive feedback loop-a chain reaction, except it goes in both directions. That's why he went from hot to hot to cold instead of just hot to cold-everything's becoming increasingly more random as time goes on. The weaker he gets, the less he can stabilize." Bruce let out a single, incredulous laugh. They'd done it. He and Tony had finally figured it out-together. As a team.

Except one glaring problem remained.

"How do we fix it?"

"Yeah." Steve finally spoke up-up until just then, he had been listening to the two academics with a very confused expression on his face. "We can't give Loki his magic back. Only Odin can do that, right?"

Tony looked at Steve, and then at Bruce, excitement growing on his face.

"There's only one thing we can do. We have to go to Asgard!"

"Tony..." Bruce began, not really sure exactly what the problem with this plan, but knowing that there was one. "That's a little easier said than done, I think. Their bridge that allows them to travel between the worlds is broken, remember?"

"Yeah, but Thor and Loki got here from Asgard. Why can't we just go back the same way they came here?"

Bruce sighed. "We're way out of our league here. We need to talk to Thor."

"Right," Tony finally agreed. "JARVIS, tell Thor to come here, and let him know he's _definitely_ going to want to hear what we have to say."

But before the AI even had time to respond, Thor's enormous form burst into the room. He looked absolutely distraught. His blonde hair was mussed, and his face was pale but for the puffy redness around his eyes. His eyes swept the room desperately until they locked onto Bruce's, and then the god of thunder sobbed more than spoke words that made Bruce's heart feel like it was plummeting several hundred feet down to the basement of the tower.

"Oh, Dr. Banner, come quickly! Loki won't wake!"

~~~_The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~_

Steve had not seen Loki since he and Thor, each holding one end of the iridium canister that contained the Tesseract, had vanished from Central Park. Then, Steve had felt satisfied and maybe even a little proud at the defeated look in the eyes of his enemy, whose mouth had been covered with a metal gag to silence his lies. But now, looking upon Loki for the first time since then, Steve felt nothing of the sort.

He was defeated, alright. That much was certain. But the Loki lying unconscious in the bed was nothing like the Loki Steve remembered. Where before there had been fiery anger and icy hatred all rolled into one, there was now only the remains of a brokenness so thorough that Steve would not have believed this to be the same god had it not been for Thor standing next to him, shoulders hitching with sobs as he watched his beloved little brother slip away before his eyes.

Banner ordered JARVIS to rattle off Loki's vital signs. Steve was no doctor, but none of them sounded good. Everything was low-heart rate, respiratory rate, blood pressure, temperature. When Loki made no response as Banner spoke to him, the doctor proceeded to roll his patient onto his side and position his arms so they supported his head and his knees so they prevented him from rolling on his stomach. Steve marveled at the remarkable calmness Banner was displaying-of course, he supposed he must be quite accustomed to remaining serene in stressful situations.

Finally, Thor could keep quiet no longer. His deep voice shaking, he asked,

"This is it, isn't it? He is dying."

Banner sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Steve was unsure if he was praying or just attempting to gather his strength for what he was about to say next.

"Unless we can get his magic back, _soon_, yes, he'll die."

"Of what do you speak?" Thor, who until just then had been unable to take his eyes off of his brother, turned suddenly to Banner, his eyes wide.

"Tony and I think we've figured out why Loki is sick. There isn't time to explain right now, but we think that because he's a Jotun and not...like you, when Odin took away his magic he lost the ability to regulate his temperature. I don't know if getting his magic back will help or not-he's pretty far gone. But right now it's his only chance. Thor, is there any way you can get back to Asgard and get your dad to give Loki his magic back?"

Although hope flickered anew in his eyes, Thor looked slightly panicked at Banner's question.

"I...I do not know...I do not think the Bifrost repairs will be completed already. I will try to contact Heimdall, our gatekeeper, although I fear my efforts to arrange transport might be in vain. Heimdall sees everything that occurs in all the realms, so I have no doubts that he knows what has been amiss with my brother. He is under an oath to serve the king of Asgard, so he must have informed my father of Loki's plight. As much as it pains me to think about-for I have forced myself to keep the thought at bay until now-I believe that my father might be turning a blind eye to his son's suffering." Grief and betrayal written on his face, Thor looked away from Banner and down once more at Loki's unconscious form. He seemed to be struggling with the idea that anyone, especially his and Loki's own father, could show nothing but the utmost concern and pity for such a pathetic creature. After a moment, he forcefully tore his gaze away and rested it on Steve and Stark, who stood against the wall. "But I will attempt all the same to make contact with Heimdall. My friends, should this prove fruitful, will you accompany me to Asgard?"

_Asgard_. The home of the Norse gods. Wow. Of course Steve would go!

"Yeah!" he replied enthusiastically at the same time Stark said "Abso-friggin-lutely, I'll go to Asgard with you!"

Thor then turned back to Banner, who shook his head.

"I'll stay this time. Somebody needs to stay with Loki, and if that spell is as uncomfortable as you describe it...I don't want to risk breaking your palace or something." He gave a sheepish half-smile, and Thor nodded gravely.

"Thank you, Dr. Banner. I leave Loki's life in your capable hands until I return." He squeezed Banner's arm with a combination of gratefulness and worry, and then turned to his brother, who lay unresponsive, still in the recovery position in which Banner had placed him.

"Loki," Thor whispered, running his fingertips lightly over the pallid cheek. "Brother, I know that I promised you I would not leave you, but right now the only chance I have to save you calls me away to Asgard. I know how tired you are-you have fought so long and so hard, and I am so very proud of you for it, but I must ask you one favor all the same." Thor's voice cracked as he spoke, but he pressed onward. "Loki, my love, please, _please_ keep fighting until I return. I cannot bear to say goodbye to you yet." He began to lose his composure then, sobs taking over his words as he tried to speak.

"But if...if you must...just know...Loki, I love you so much."

Hot, salty tears splattered on Loki's cold face as Thor kissed his forehead far more tenderly than Steve could have imagined the bombastic warrior capable. Then, tearing himself away from his brother's bedside, Thor strode quickly out of the room, head lowered and shoulders hunched. Steve and Stark exchanged a glance before following him, nodding to Banner as they left.

"Well," said Stark, almost under his breath, grabbing his suit-in-a-suitcase as they hurried down the corridor, several paces behind Thor, "I guess we'd better suit up."


	20. Chapter 20

**Have a Tony chapter! Welcome to Asgard. Enjoy your stay! ;)**

Ten minutes later, Tony, Steve, and Thor stood on the roof of Stark Tower, staring up at the clear night sky. It would have been incredibly peaceful, Tony thought, with all the stars and the crisp fall air, had it not been for the sense of urgency that danced nervously inside him. Oh, and Thor yelling at the top of his lungs.

"Heimdall! Tell my father to transport me and my two friends back to Asgard."

For several long seconds, nothing happened. And then for a couple of much longer minutes, nothing still happened. Tony tapped his middle fingers on the pads of his thumbs nervously, occasionally glancing at Steve. The supersoldier stood next to him, tall and serene, watching Thor pace back and forth across the roof with a sad and mildly worried look in his eyes. He had indeed suited up for the occasion-he wore his signature spangly outfit and held his round, vibranium shield in his hand. Tony had been perfectly content to appear before the most powerful being in the entire universe in his favorite Black Sabbath T-shirt and jeans, but Steve had glared at him until he at least put on a long-sleeved collared shirt. The jeans had stayed. Tony wasn't compromising all the way.

Thor then grew frustrated with waiting and bellowed up at the sky once more, even louder this time. Tony hadn't thought that possible.

"Heimdall! Please, tell my father to cast the spell to bring us to Asgard. I know you and my brother have had your differences, but..."

He never finished his statement. Suddenly Tony wasn't on the roof of his tower anymore. Gone were the stars and the cool breeze. Gone were Steve and Thor. Gone was the solid ground beneath his feet. All he knew was blackness and spinning.

The sensation probably only lasted a few seconds, but to Tony it felt longer than he'd been alive. All he knew was that he wanted it to _stop_. And then suddenly it did, or at least in part. He was still spinning, and everything was still black, but there was a surface beneath him. He had landed on...whatever it was on his side, and he moaned as he tried to turn over and pain accosted him. _That_ was going to bruise in many different colors.

It took several seconds for him to feel ready to open his eyes. When he finally did so, he lifted his lids a millimeter at a time, still feeling dizzy and sick to his stomach as the bright light staged an assault on his overstimulated senses. When he could finally see, he noticed Steve sitting a few feet from where he lay. The soldier's head was between his spangled knees. Tony couldn't see Thor, but he could hear the rumble of his voice from behind him, mixed with another, softer, unfamiliar voice. Tony tried to turn over again, but stopped when he realized that the surface on which he lay suddenly ended very close to his body. Whatever he was lying on just gave way into...nothing. Just blackness.

"Whoa," whispered Tony, and forgetting himself, he scrambled to his hands and knees. He should have known better-he'd been hungover enough times to know to take things slow. A sudden, intense wave of nausea overtook him and he threw up into the nothingness. When he had regained his bearings, he pulled himself away from the edge of wherever he was and sat there, contemplating where his puke had ended up. Maybe it was still falling.

"You okay?" asked Steve, who was now on his feet next to him. How was he already standing up?

Squinting against the sunlight-they were outside and it was daytime, that much he knew-Tony looked up at him.

"Yeah, I think I am now." He then accepted the hand Steve offered him and, bracing himself, rose slowly to his feet.

After the dizziness associated with the action of standing had subsided, Tony was finally able to fully take in his surroundings. And _holy crap_ were they _some_ surroundings.

They appeared to be standing on what used to be a bridge, except instead of water, there was the nothingness beneath them. It was almost like outer space was threatening to surround them and was being held at bay by the remains of the structure. On one end of the bridge, the broken end, stood Thor and a tall man with dark skin and a helmet even bigger and weirder than Loki's. Strange, but nothing particularly fascinating. But on the other end of the bridge stood what could only be a place Tony had only heard about in myths, or at least up until quite recently.

Asgard. They were _in Asgard_. Tony was probably the first actual human being ever to be in the world of the Norse Gods. Well, he and Steve.

Asgard was big and beautiful and golden. It made Tony's super-awesome tower look absolutely puny. But somehow, Tony wasn't offended. This was a whole different level of mind-blowing extravagance.

He was still attempting to take it all in when Thor's booming voice got his attention.

"Tony Stark, Captain Rogers, welcome to Asgard, my home. This," he motioned to the man beside him, "is Heimdall, our realm's gatekeeper. He sees and hears everything that goes on in all the realms."

_Everything?_ Tony was distracted from thinking about what that actually meant by something very startling about Heimdall's appearance. The man had _golden eyes_. It was...creepy. But at the same time, it was almost beautiful. But definitely more creepy. _Unnerving _was another word that came to mind.

"Hi..." said Tony uncertainly at the same time Steve said, "Nice to meet you" and went in for a handshake. The weird guy just looked down at it with a mingling of amusement and distaste. Steve quickly retracted his hand. Tony had to put in a lot of effort not to laugh.

"Come, my friends, time is of the essence. Heimdall, will you be accompanying us to the throne room?"

"Not this time, Thor. This task falls only to the Avengers. I can only wish you luck and speed." Heimdall even _sounded_ wise to Tony. Scratch what he'd thought before, this guy was pretty cool. But still creepy.

Thor nodded curtly. "Thank you, Heimdall, for helping us receive passage here. Stay here and wait for us to return. We will not be staying in Asgard long."

"So I gathered," replied Heimdall, but he did not elaborate further.

Thor started off down the bridge, and Steve and Tony found themselves almost having to run to keep pace with his long, purposeful strides. Had Tony had the breath to do so, he would have commented on how awesome it was that the name "the Avengers" had taken off even on an entirely different planet. He thought it was pretty cool, at least.

When they reached the palace-huge and expansive, intricately carved trim adorning its every inch-the dozen guards that stood in pairs by the entryway all descended to one knee in reverence to their prince. Tony couldn't deny it-he was genuinely impressed, and admittedly a little jealous. He was the genius/billionaire/playboy/philanthropist _and_ a superhero, and all he had was a smartass AI butler and a robot who couldn't figure out that fire extinguishers weren't supposed to be used _on _people. And while Tony couldn't seem to prevent JARVIS from turning on the snark occasionally, Thor's presence here seemed to command the respect of his people, and Tony admired that.

There were even more guards (who also kneeled) at the ceiling-high double doors that Tony could only guess led into the throne room.

"Allow my friends and I to enter. I seek immediate counsel with the Allfather." Thor's voice was authoritative and brusque. He was obviously in no mood for chitchat.

"My prince," said one of the guards, "I can allow you to see the king, but I cannot allow these...strangers to enter the Allfather's presence."

"They are with me," growled Thor, tightening his grip on Mjolnir so hard that his knuckles grew white.

"Thor, it's okay," said Steve softly. "Tony and I can stay out here. We don't have time to argue over it-_Loki_ doesn't have time. Just do what you need to do."

For a second, his words appeared to have their desired effect on the previously resolute thunder god. The mention of his brother gave Thor pause, but then his face hardened over once more.

"No," he said staunchly and severely. "No. I must show my father that I mean to get what I have come for, no matter how vehemently he denies me. Having my Avenger companions with me will help enforce that. Come." And with that, he strode up to the guards, hammer in hand. The guards glanced at each other before moving into their defensive positions, lowering their spears threateningly.

"Though you answer to the king, do not forget that as First Prince I have the authority to terminate your positions with a snap of my fingers." Thor's voice was little more than a growl, and its ferocity was enough to cause the sentries to resume their watchful positions. Thor, flanked by a nervous Tony and Steve, entered the throne room unhindered.

Even the historically nonchalant Tony Stark had difficulty not gaping in awe at the decadence and utter vastness of the chamber in which they stood. He made a mental note to consider some of the designs of the Asgardian palace in his own redecorating. Tiny veins of gold slithered up the marble walls, and the carpet that ran down the middle of the floor leading up to the throne was a deep, plush, reddish purple. The throne itself was made of gold, predictably, and upon it sat an aged man with long white hair. It appeared as though some crazy person with a Bedazzle gun had been turned loose on the eyepatch that covered his right eye. Tony didn't really want to know the story there.

Despite Thor's insistence that they accompany him, Tony and Steve hung back uncertainly while their friend marched purposefully forward, red caping billowing behind him. Beside the king-for the figure in the enormous chair was undoubtedly Odin-sat a woman in a golden dress. _That has to be the __queen, Frigga,_ thought Tony. _Man, she's kinda hot. Whoa there, buddy. Now is _not_ the time for that._ The queen got to her feet immediately when she saw Thor, but Odin reached out an inhibitory hand and brought her to a halt as he rose, more slowly than she had. Before he had time to speak, Thor jumped right in.

"Father, I come on an urgent errand, which you _will_ grant me, if you love your son."

Odin ignored Thor's presumptuousness and furrowed his brow, looking confused. "My son, you know that I love you."

Thor scoffed. "Do not make play that you know not of what I speak. I do not mean _me_." His voice trembled nearly imperceptibly with anger.

"Thor, I..." began the king, but Thor cut him off, his anger raging. It was damn near as terrifying to watch Thor get angry as it was Bruce. Tony almost unconsciously pressed himself up against the back wall of the throne room in an attempt to put as much distance between himself and the irate deity as possible. He jumped when a sudden flash of lightning burst into the throne room through the windows, followed almost immediately by a clap of thunder so loud it left his ears ringing. Tony remembered how sunny and clear it had been outside, only a couple of minutes before.

"All of my life I never questioned why you seemed to love me more than you loved Loki, because I never noticed until he cried out for help. And even when he held onto life literally by one hand, you denied him! Yes, he acted poorly, and yes, he has made even worse choices since then. But he has _changed_, Father! Could you not see the love that Loki and I have shared these past few days? Or how much he has suffered unjustly because of _your_ too-harsh punishment? It is utterly lost on me how you, who call yourself his _father_, can stand by and ignore him when he lies at the very door of Death herself! What are you trying to prove, Father?! What lessons can Loki learn if he is _dead_?"

Thor's last word came out almost a disbelieving sob, as though, even through his burning outrage, he could not believe that his father, whom he had loved and looked up to for over a millennium, could do something so heartless and terrible. The thunder sounded again, but this time it was only a soft rumble, as though the reality of losing his brother had finally set in for Thor, and it had sapped him of his energy. Odin looked simultaneously affronted, confused, and concerned; Frigga just looked horrified.

"I do not understand," she all but whispered. "You say that you and Loki have shared love, but that his condition has worsened? I thought that being reconciled with you would at least alleviate his depression enough so that he could care for himself. Oh Thor, what has befallen my Loki?" Even from across the room, Tony could see that she was shaking.

His anger reignited, Thor whirled back upon Odin.

"So you have kept the truth from Mother as well? Why, Father? What kind of king or husband or father _does_ this?"

"ENOUGH!" roared Odin, apparently finally having had enough of being accused and verbally assaulted by his eldest son. The force and volume of his voice caused Thor to pause in surprise just long enough for the king to assert what he had to say.

"Thor, I hope desperately that this is all just a very large misunderstanding and that you have not lost your mind." Thor started to protest, but Odin held up a hand and silenced him with a terrifying, one-eyed glare. _That guy's even got Fury beat on that account,_ thought Tony. The king went on.

"You come here with accusations and wanting answers, but I am afraid that I cannot answer your questions, nor have I any idea of what I am being accused. But if something ails my son, I would have you tell me."

Thor swallowed, looking frantically back and forth between his parents, a look of horrible realization dawning on his face.

"You mean Heimdall has not told you of Loki's illness?" he whispered, and from the looks on Odin's and Frigga's faces, it was apparent that this was the truth. "Oh Father, you have my sincerest apologies!" He dropped instantly to one knee, bowing his head in shame and deference.

"Rise, Thor," said Odin brusquely, and Thor obeyed.

"Thor," Frigga asked shakily, coming away from the throne area to stand by her son. "Please tell me what is wrong with him."

Thor glanced quickly at Odin, and noting the genuine worry in that half of a gaze, took his mother's hand.

"Ever since we arrived at Stark Tower, Loki has been terribly ill with fever and chills, and he has been getting worse very quickly. Dr. Banner says that it is because his magic has been taken away from him. He and Stark think that Loki's Jotun nature caused his magic to be bound more tightly to him than it would in an Aesir sorcerer, and it has destroyed his ability to control the temperature of his body. It has left him so weakened that I fear he cannot fight it much longer. He was unconscious when I left."

Frigga had paled, and had placed her free hand briefly over her mouth when Thor had spoken of Loki's magic.

"That is why he reacted so adversely to the extraction! I thought it was because his magic was still bound to the Tesseract, but this...it makes sense..." She drew a shuddering breath. "Odin, you should never have..."

Odin sighed wearily. "Now is not the time, Frigga. What is done is done; the only thing we can hope to do is right the wrongs before it is too late."

"Stark and Banner believe that by returning Loki's magic, we may save his life. Please Father, I know that the source of the Jotuns' power is the Casket of Ancient Winters. If I can take the Casket back to Loki, will I be able to restore his magic?"

This sigh sounded even more tired than the last. "Oh, my son," murmured Odin. "I would give you this relic without hesitancy if it meant saving Loki's life, but for one important detail. I am afraid the Casket has been stolen."

The dismay in Thor's eyes at this news was evident. "Stolen? How? When? By whom? Is something being done?"

"Patience, Thor," Odin said with a weary sigh. Thor glared stormily at his father-patience was not something he had time for at the moment-but he did not say anything. Odin continued.

"The event occurred only a few hours before your arrival. Apparently there are still weaknesses in our security that need to be addressed-I suppose it should come as no surprise that more would appear after Loki's bargain with Laufey. Heimdall saw the culprits, but said he did not have time to stop them." Here, Odin paused, his face darkening with sadness. Thor tilted his head downward so he could study his father's face, and an uncomfortable look of terrible realization crossed his face.

"Father?" He asked softly, hesitantly. "Who stole the Casket of Ancient Winters?"

"The Frost Giants," said Odin with a mixture of sadness and distaste. "I believe they were servants of Helblindi, seeking revenge for Laufey's death. He now holds the throne of Jotunheim-he is young, and yearns for the novel taste of bloodshed. I have no doubts that he means to go through with the war you started. The Warriors Three and the Lady Sif left yesterday for Alfheim to try to recruit their help should the conflict escalate. There is no one else whom I trust with the mission of retrieving the Casket. I have no doubts that Helblindi plans to use it to strengthen his army to march against Asgard, and possibly even to draw the Svaltalfar to their side as well. The young king of Jotunheim seeks vengeance for many wrongs, and he will see to it that Asgard pays for its acts against his realm."

"Helblindi." Thor repeated the name softly, as though it were unfamiliar to him, a thoughtfulness in his voice. "Father, is he...?"

"Yes, my son," said Odin quietly, his eyes cast downward; next to Thor, Frigga grew even paler. "Helblindi is Loki's younger brother by birth."

Tony saw Thor swallow, and for several seconds, no one spoke. Tony didn't think he had ever been silent for this long-it was probably taking time off of his lifespan or something. But now definitely did _not_ seem like a good time to speak up and introduce himself. Awkward family moments and all that.

"I will go," said Thor suddenly, shaking Tony's thoughts back to the current state of affairs. The thunder god's voice was full of conviction and determination. He repeated his words as though to solidify their intent. "I will go to Jotunheim and retrieve the Casket. If it is the only way to save Loki's life, then I will do anything I must to get it back. I will bargain, I will threaten, I will fight, I will get down on my knees and plead with Helblindi if I must. I cannot let my brother die. I _will_ not."

Frigga's arm snaked its way over to Thor's to clutch her son's hand tightly. Tears shown in her eyes, simultaneously fearful and hopeful. Odin, however, looked much more reserved about the idea than his wife.

"Thor," he said reasonably. "Think about what you are doing. This is an incredibly dangerous task. I know you have marched into Jotunheim with your small band before, but these are graver circumstances. Laufey was an experienced king who had seen what horrors war can bring upon a realm, and he was hesitant to start one. Helblindi is young and inexperienced, and he thirsts for Asgardian blood as revenge for his father's death. If you go to Jotunheim, you _will_ start a war."

"Even if I do not go to Jotunheim, Asgard will be at war! You said so yourself!" Thor was obviously losing his patience very quickly. Tony could see the sky outside darkening once more through the windows.

"Thor, I am not saying you should not go. I am just asking you not to be rash."

"Rash? _Rash? _Father, I am not being rash! The boy who dragged his brother and their friends off to Jotunheim for revenge for a simple break-in and started a war was rash. But I have changed, Father. Now I seek to act not out of anger, but out of love."

"Thor, the Frost Giants will show you no mercy!"

"Do not _call_ them that!" Thor roared. "They are the _Jotuns_, and it is a risk that I am willing to take. I hold onto the hope that they might surprise us. One of them already has."

And that was how Thor succeeded in silencing the mighty Odin Allfather out of shame. The king stepped backward and sank into his throne, looking sickened. After a long time he said, his voice soft,

"You are right, Thor. I will transport you and your friends to Jotunheim. May the Norns favor your endeavor, for the sake of Asgard and her princes."

Thor took a step backward and nodded. A moment of understanding and acceptance seemed to pass silently between father and son, although Tony wasn't sure how he was able to recognize something like that-it wasn't as though he'd had experience in that area.

"I will give you half an hour to prepare yourselves. I suggest you dress your Midgardian friends _very_ warmly. Anthony Stark, Steven Rogers, welcome to Asgard," said the king, nodding cordially to the previously unacknowledged audience in the back of the throne room. "I apologize for the argument you just had to witness."

"That's okay," said Tony nervously. Steve merely said, "Thank you." They had just been directly addressed by the most powerful being in the entire universe. Words weren't exactly coming very readily at the moment.

Fortunately for the two of them, Odin then turned his attention back to his son. "Thor, I do not know why Heimdall did not inform Frigga and I of Loki's illness. Your mother has inquired about both of your wellbeing every single day since you left, and Heimdall merely said that Loki was continually improving in both health and temperament. I know that Loki and Heimdall experienced a severe dispute while Loki held the throne. Perhaps the gatekeeper seeks revenge. I will keep him under a heavy watch to ensure that he does not attempt to meddle with your plans."

Thor nodded. "Thank you, Father. I do not wish to think ill of Heimdall, but I cannot think of any other explanation for his lies. Will he be tried for treason?"

Odin shook his head. "We will discuss it at length when you return again. Right now, you must prepare to travel to Jotunheim, and then back to Midgard. May your endeavors be fruitful."

"Thank you, Father." Thor dipped his head respectfully, only to have it shoot back up again when Frigga pulled him into a deep embrace.

"Oh Thor, please take care of yourself. All I want is to see _both_ of my sons alive and well once more."

Thor nodded and squeezed her back before pulling away. Tony thought he saw the reflection of a tear in the mighty warrior's eye.

"I will try my very hardest, Mother."

She smiled slightly, although there was pain in the expression.

"I suppose that is the best I can ask for." And with that, she glided out of the throne room, leaving a soft scent of perfume in her wake. Thor stared after her, his face set in a hard line. After several seconds had passed, he finally turned to Tony and Steve.

"Come, my friends. It appears as though Asgard will not be the only unfamiliar realm to which you will travel this day. But I must warn you, Jotunheim is not nearly as warm and welcoming as my homeland."

Yeah. Tony had pretty much guessed that.

_Great._ This was just great.


	21. Chapter 21

**And now for some Natasha POV! Thanks for continuing to read and review-enjoy the chapter! :)**

Natasha Romanoff wasn't exactly sure what she'd been expecting when Fury called her into his office approximately two weeks after Clint failed his psych eval and was told he couldn't come back to work. But whatever it was she'd been expecting to hear as she stood in front of that big, black granite desk-she didn't like to sit down when talking in a less-than-familiar manner with people because it made her feel more vulnerable-it wasn't what came out of Fury's mouth.

"Two weeks ago, we received some very strange energy readings from outside a certain schwarma joint that might be familiar to you and some friends of yours. We sent agents to check it out, but they found nothing out of the ordinary. Fifteen minutes ago, we received almost identical energy readings from a place about ten blocks away that concerns me _far_ more. Would you care to take a guess where that place might be, Agent Romanoff?"

_Huh?_ How the hell was she supposed to... _Wait a second. Oh, shit._

"Stark Tower?" She really, _really_ hoped the answer to that question was "no".

"Stark Tower!" So much for that. "Given that you have...professional history with the owner of Stark Tower, I want you to go and see what you can dig up. Given everything we've seen in the past few weeks, this is starting to look pretty hinky."

Natasha sighed internally. This was _not_ exactly how she wanted to spend her evening. Despite having fought and won a battle against alienkind together less than a month ago, she wasn't exactly on the best of terms with Tony Stark. It was obvious that he didn't trust her, and she _definitely_ didn't trust him. But if these energy readings were somehow related to magic or other realms or whatever they were, Stark couldn't hardly be involved with them, could he? He had fought against Loki, just as the rest of them had. Unless this had something to do with Thor, a case which she didn't know how to handle. She liked the Asgardian-he was bombastic, but kind and caring-but she wouldn't lie to herself for a moment and say that he, or anything that he was involved in, wasn't potentially dangerous. She remembered what she'd said to Clint in the infirmary on the helicarrier-_ "This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for."_ She wanted to be done with monsters and magic. Bring back the con artists and the conspirators and the trained assassins. But leave the friggin' aliens at home, for the love of Christ.

"With all due respect, Sir, how do you expect me to go about this? Just knock on the door and ask Stark if he's consorting with extraterrestrials?"

Fury rolled his eye-having only one of them, the gesture was a little disconcerting. His tone was injected with sarcasm. "_No_, we don't want to tip him off that we know anything until we find out exactly what he's doing." His voice serious again, he continued. "On the other hand, if he's in trouble, we don't want to alert the enemy. We're going to have to do this covert."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "You want me to break into Stark Tower?"

"I want you to get in there any way you can without letting Stark or any hostiles know you're there, and then I want you to install surveillance equipment. If he's consorting with aliens, I want him monitored twenty-four seven."

Ok, _that_ was taking it a little too far.

"Sir, isn't that a violation of the Patriot Act?"

Fury realized she was onto him and sighed. He sounded tired, and Natasha _almost_ had a momentary flicker of sympathy for him.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Romanoff."

"But not operating outside a government legal institution!"

He was glaring at her now, his patience obviously waning fast. "Since when have you been one to operate inside the law, Agent Romanoff?"

Ok she _definitely_ wasn't going to let him play that card. "Since I came to work for _your_ department! You were the one who taught me that working inside boundaries can be more effective than working outside them. This isn't what S.H.I.E.L.D. does, Director. We don't stalk people without good reason. It's unethical and illegal."

Fury's expression lived up to his name, but he remained silent for several seconds. Natasha, nervous though she admittedly was, did not show it and stood her ground. Finally, the director spoke.

"Fine, Romanoff, we'll do it your way. No surveillance equipment. But I want you in there checking out the situation _stat_."

She nodded. "But there's just one thing. How am I supposed to get in unnoticed? Stark has hundreds of security cameras in that tower. I need a way to neutralize them."

"I'll send a sniper with you."

"Gunshots would alert Stark. We need something silent."

He studied her for a long moment. He knew exactly what she wanted, she could tell. Although she would never let him see it, inside she was hoping desperately that he would cave. And not only for her sake-although she had to admit that did play into it as well.

"This isn't just about security cameras, is it?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "No, sir," she admitted.

"Romanoff, you know Barton's not allowed to come back for another ten weeks. He can't go on any missions. He's not psychologically stable."

That did it. The cool, collected Natasha Romanoff lost her composure.

"You know just as well as I do that that's not the truth! He's got some issues to work out, yes, but he can't if he's forced to stay home and think about them for three months! You've taken away his outlet. He _needs_ this."

Fury raised his eyebrows threateningly and Natasha backed off, still seething silently.

"Agent Romanoff, I should have you suspended for speaking to a superior like that." He sounded surprised at her outburst, and a little overwhelmed. "But as it is, you do have a point. I disagreed with the idea of him taking time off from the start. How about we make a deal? You take Barton with you, but no one, and I mean _no one_ hears about it. Do you realize we could all lose our jobs over this, Romanoff? The Council is already pretty pissed off at me."

She nodded, the silence becoming awkward before she realized he was awaiting her verbal response.

"Yes, sir. And I appreciate your consent. We'll head for Stark Tower immediately. Thank you."

He nodded, looking as though he was relieved to be finished with the conversation. But just as she was about to exit the office, he called her name again.

"Romanoff."

She turned back to face him.

"You keep an eye on Barton. You're both good agents. I don't want to lose either of you, for whatever reason."

She afforded him a curt nod, although she was loathe to admit that her heart beat just the tiniest bit faster for a fraction of a second at the incredibly rare praise.

"I will, sir."

Exactly thirty-eight minutes later, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton stood outside of Stark Tower, just far enough away not to be picked up by the cameras.

Although he had responded to the message that he was allowed to join her on the mission with only a brisk nod before rushing off to retrieve his bow and quiver, there had been a moment-barely enough time to even notice it-during which Natasha had seen an unmistakeable flicker of joy in Clint's eyes. It had taken him less than two minutes to change into his full work attire, arm guards and all, and when he had met her at the door, he had seemed to stand a little taller than normal.

"You ready?" she'd asked, eyeing him critically.

"Bow, check. Arrows, check. Badass, always got that on me."

She hadn't been able to help grinning a little before forcing herself to be serious again. As enthusiastic as he seemed to be, she couldn't help but be a little concerned.

"No, Clint," she'd said, and at the sound of his name and the meaning embedded in her tone, his smile had faded. "I mean, are you _ready_?"

He'd processed what she had said, and then his had smile returned, smaller this time, but genuine all the same.

"I think so." It wasn't perfect-it wasn't an ideal 'yes'. But that was how she'd known he was being honest. And it was good enough for her.

"C'mon, Hawkeye. Let's go check up on our favorite billionaire."

Which had led them to where they were standing now, about two hundred feet from the side of Stark Tower, on the roof of an nearby building Clint used his night vision goggles to dial in on a security camera. When it was in his sights, he lifted his bow, using his left hand to draw the string back to his ear, and then released, the string returning to its default tension with a satisfying _twang_. Natasha, through her own goggles, watched with satisfaction as the arrow made contact with its target, shattering the lens of the camera. Clint kept a straight face, but she could tell that inside he was grinning from ear to ear.

Clint took out three more cameras on that side of the building before announcing that he couldn't spot any more security devices. That was Natasha's cue. She removed a specialized pistol from her holster and, aiming carefully, shot two ropes over to the crumbling roof of Stark Tower so that they latched onto the wall about six feet apart, vertically. She then anchored the other ends of the rope to the wall of the building of which they stood on top. Holstering the gun, she stepped onto the bottom rope, gripped the top one, and began to walk, slowly but confidently, across the gap, inching along by placing one foot in front of the other, hoping that the anchors were secure and the tension wouldn't give out an an inopportune moment.

She made it across, and so did Clint behind her. Natasha used a remote control to un-attach the anchors and reloaded the ropes into the gun for later. Then, picking their way carefully through the broken window, the two agents entered the penthouse of Stark Tower.

Clint eyed the empty frame through which they had just walked and raised an eyebrow.

"Was that the window that Loki tossed Stark through?"

"Probably," responded Natasha offhandedly, looking around the dark room, taking in her surroundings and analyzing the situation for any potential danger.

Clint snorted softly. "I'm not sure which one of them I think I'd like to see thrown out of a window more."

"Both is good," muttered Natasha, but Clint's sniggering was cut off by a sudden bodiless, ubiquitous, British voice that came from nowhere and yet everywhere.

**Good evening, Agents Romanoff and Barton. Welcome to Stark Tower. I am afraid Mr. Stark is not in at the moment, although I can assure you he would not appreciate the destructive method of your entry. Agent Barton will be receiving a bill for property damages shortly.**

"What the hell?" gasped Clint, looking around wildly. He had an arrow nocked on his bow.

_Damn._ In her enthusiasm for getting Clint in on the mission, Natasha had completely forgotten the most memorable thing about Stark Tower (save its owner)-its AI butler.

"Hello, JARVIS," she said bitterly, motioning for Clint to lower his bow. Hesitantly, he did so, but he still looked a little unnerved.

"Tasha, you forget to tell me something?"

She sighed. "Apparently JARVIS, the Artificial Intelligence, can't be neutralized by taking out a few security cameras."

**Indeed I cannot. My programming is far superior to such simple devices.**

"You've developed quite a wit, haven't you?"

**Mr. Stark assures me that I have. He says I take after him.**

"Great. Just what we need. _Two_ Starks." Natasha rolled her eyes. Clint was staring at her with an utterly befuddled look on his face. "JARVIS, you said he wasn't here?"

**Mr. Stark is not currently in the tower.**

"Is _anyone_ currently in the tower? Besides me and Clint." Natasha was quickly beginning to get frustrated at having to force the information she wanted out of the computer.

**I am not allowed to disclose that information.**

"Dude, where is the CPU for this thing? I can take him out in a second. I've got an arrow with 'JARVIS' written all over it." Clint was obviously becoming just as frustrated as Natasha was. However, whatever snarky remark the AI might have come back with was terminated by the _ding_ of the elevator, signaling that someone had arrived in the disarrayed penthouse.

Exchanging mildly panicked glances, Natasha and Clint simultaneously drew their weapons and aimed them at the doors to the elevator. In light of the possibility of non-human life forms in the tower, Natasha hoped fervently that whatever stepped through those sliding doors and into the moonlit room would be conquerable with arrows and bullets.

But the being that entered the room certainly didn't look like an alien. He wasn't huge or scaly or even very tall. He was just a short man, with greying brown hair and glasses. He stepped into the penthouse and regarded the two agents, one eyebrow raised, with a look that appeared to be a mixture of tiredness and confusion. Seeing the weapons pointed at him, he slowly raised his palms in a gesture of surrender, but no fear ever crossed his face.

"Dr. Banner." Natasha sighed with relief as she and Clint lowered their arms. "I was worried something a little...bigger might come out of that elevator."

He snorted softly. "That's irony if I've ever heard it." Putting his hands down by his sides, he asked the most obvious question for the current situation. "What are you doing here?"

Once again, the agents glanced at each other. Obviously the covertness of their mission had been compromised. Banner could be an asset-but at the same time, he too could be working with whatever alien life forms might be associated with the abnormal energy readings. Even a great mind like his could be possessed. Natasha wasn't sure how much information to reveal.

Swallowing, she looked back at the doctor, trying to discern if he had any motivations that might be detrimental to either her, Clint, or the mission. But as she studied Banner, she realized that his question hadn't been asked out of simple curiosity. Although his tone had been mild enough, there was something in his eyes that unnerved her. A warning? Maybe a little, but..._defensiveness_. That was it. But he stood there confidently enough-he wasn't afraid for his own safety. Was he _protecting_ something? Or someone? Either way, she suddenly realized that they would need to tread even more lightly than she had originally thought. She thought of a mother cat-docile and sweet normally, but able to become an angry ball of destruction at the drop of a hat should someone so much as touch one of her kittens. Banner more than had that potential, and they really didn't need an "incident" to happen right now. But at the same time, Natasha had the unshakeable feeling that whatever he was protecting was vitally important to their mission.

Banner was an honest and reasonable man, that much she knew. And suddenly, she decided that maybe if she was honest with him, he would in turn be honest with her.

"About an hour ago, S.H.I.E.L.D. received abnormal energy readings coming off of Stark Tower. We thought Stark might be in trouble, so we broke in secretly to try and take any enemies by surprise." There, that was all truthful. Maybe not the whole truth, but what did it matter?

A lot, apparently. "Or, you thought Tony might be working with aliens." It wasn't a question-it was a statement. She'd forgotten just how sharp Banner's mind was. Clint was giving her looks like he thought she'd lost her mind. Maybe she had. She fought down a slight panic at the exposure of her withholding of the whole truth. Banner didn't _sound_ angry, but she knew better than to take anything for granted. She needed to better assess his state of mind, but in the darkness and with him keeping secrets, that was incredibly difficult. She wasn't a shrink.

Slowly, she nodded. "That was on our list of possibilities, yes. Do you know where he is now?"

Banner opened his mouth as if to respond, but then closed it again. After a moment, he said,

"I think I'd better not say. Not just yet, anyway."

"What do you mean?" She continued to purposefully keep her voice as calm as possible. She reminded herself of the first time she had met Banner, in Calcutta. The strategy had worked then, but she had had the upper hand. But she was trained for this. Wasn't she?

_This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for..._

He met her eyes for a second, and in his gaze she saw such a depth of emotion that she was _almost_ taken aback. There was an unprecedented level of exhaustion there, and it almost seemed to overwhelm everything else, but there was also the unmistakable presence of fear, worry, and desperation. None of that was good in a man who killed people when his heart beat faster than 200 beats per minute. But though the proximity of the danger frightened her, those brown eyes drew her into him and she felt an inexplicable sadness.

"You should go. Both of you." Banner turned away, as though he were about to get back into the elevator. The order was gruff, and Natasha thought it would be wisest to obey it. Unfortunately, that was not an option.

"I'm sorry, but we can't. Not until we figure out the source of the energy readings." She took a deep breath, hardly believing that she was about to say what she was.

"I know you're hiding something, Dr. Banner. Please tell us what it is. Maybe we can help."

Beside her, Clint tightened his grip on his bow, and his left hand was at the ready to reach back into his quiver at a moment's notice. Natasha had to consciously prevent herself from reaching for her gun. Slowly the doctor turned back around. He looked at Clint first, then at Natasha, and then back to Clint. Finally, he spoke with something similar to relieved assent.

"Okay. Maybe you _can_ help."

They followed him into the elevator, Natasha still somewhat in shock that her on-the-spot planning had actually worked. The lift deposited them on a lower floor, which opened out into a long hallway with several doors spaced quite far apart. It looked like a guest wing. Banner led them about halfway down the hall before coming to a halt in front of a mahogany-colored door.

"I can only let you in if you leave all your weapons outside. Please. There is nothing inside this room that can hurt you, I promise." He sounded uncertain, as though he was not used to ordering people around in this way. After studying him for another moment, Natasha removed both her pistol and the repelling gun from her holster and placed them on the floor next to the door. Rolling his eyes slightly, Clint did the same with his bow and quiver. When he saw that his instructions had been obeyed, Banner sighed and nodded, and then opened the door and motioned for the two of them to follow him into the room. Clint went first, striding forward cautiously, his body tense and ready. Natasha saw him stop abruptly when he saw something that had not yet come into her view. His whole body went absolutely rigid, and his hands clenched into tight fists. She thought he might be shaking, ever so slightly, but the room was only dimly lit, and she couldn't tell for certain. Concerned and undeniably curious, Natasha stepped out from behind Clint and followed his gaze. And then suddenly she understood his reaction, for in front of them was Loki.

_Loki._ The one who had destroyed their lives, the one responsible for Clint being suspended and for the nightmares that he had told her about in short, sharp statements. She didn't know their details, but she knew they shook him to his core, rattling his ample courage and self-assurance. She had decided from the moment she'd heard Loki's name that she hated him, _loathed_ him with a passion that licked at her heart with its scorching flames. She almost started forward, her desire to see him suffer overwhelming all of her sense. She wanted to avenge Clint for what he'd been put through-they were supposed to be the _Avengers_, weren't they? She always thought that word-_avenge_-implied a personal vendetta, that it had nothing to do with the planet, as she had heard Stark say. Well, this was personal. No one had ever meant quite as much to her as Clint did, and damn if she wasn't going to make the one who'd hurt him suffer.

_This isn't me_, she thought briefly, as though for a second she was able to step outside herself and observe what was happening to her mind. It was enough to make her stop from acting rashly, but her thoughts still roiled in her head. _You don't hate with fire, only ice, and you don't want revenge. You just do what you're ordered to do, no questions asked. Since when do you let your emotions take over you like this?_

As lost as she was within her thoughts, it took her far longer than it normally would have to fully take in the sight in front of her. She was aware that Loki appeared to be sleeping, and that he hadn't stirred since they'd entered the room. Banner had gone to him as she and Clint looked on and now he was sponging Loki's forehead with a wet washcloth. It was only then that she realized how unhealthy the god of mischief looked. His face was a sickly white but for the red that colored his cheekbones. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and even in the poor light she could see the dark circles beneath his eyes. And, through the uncomfortable silence that had descended upon the room, she could hear his breathing, labored and awful, like the breath of someone who did not have much time left to live. She would know what that sounded like-she had heard it plenty of times before.

"With all due respect, Dr. Banner, what the hell is Loki doing here?"

She had expected Clint to ask the question before now, and was surprised to hear it come out of her own mouth. Clint still stood next to her, silent and unmoving. His expression was not of fury or hatred, which she did not doubt was the appearance of her own visage. Clint was oddly blank, unreadable.

Banner turned to glare irritably at her. "Not much of anything, as you can probably tell. He and Thor showed up two weeks ago, Loki mortal and with his magic stripped. He got sick and then he kept getting worse-his temperature goes from hot to cold, and the distance between the extremes is increasing while the time it takes to reach them is decreasing. He's been unconscious for a few hours now. He's dying."

Natasha blinked. _Dying? Mortal? Loki?_

Banner continued. "Tony and I finally realized that he needed to get his magic back to survive. Thor, Tony, and Steve went to Asgard to appeal to Odin."

Now Natasha allowed her anger to show, just a little. "I really don't think that's a good idea, Dr. Banner." The words were not accusatory, but she figured that judging by the tone of her voice and the worried look on Banner's face, it hadn't taken much for the doctor to realize how she felt. "You want to give him his magic back? In what universe is that a good plan?"

"You don't understand," Banner cut her off. "He's not...like he was. He and Thor...they're okay." He sighed deeply, and then proceeded to tell the two agents every detail that he knew of Loki's and Thor's reconciliation-Loki's punishment, his nightmares, Thor's poorly chosen words and Loki's consequent banishment of him, Loki reaching out desperately to his brother in despair, and Thor's constant presence at his side since that moment. As she listened, Natasha watched Clint, expecting something, even the tiniest reaction out of him. But there was nothing. Not a tightening of the clenched fists, not a twitch of an eye, not a change of expression. She wondered if he was still attempting to take in and process what was happening. The story Banner told was touching, certainly, but this was _Loki_. He had hurt and killed so many people. He had taken over Clint's mind. He deserved all the suffering he was experiencing, and he deserved to die. She had killed people for less than what he had done, and she hadn't looked back after doing so.

"And so, I...I thought you might be able to help," Banner finished. "I think Heimdall, Asgard's gatekeeper, might let you join the rest of them if you asked. Thor says he can see and hear everything in all the realms. It's a long shot, but from the way Thor made it sound, he needs all the support he can get standing up to his father. Apparently Odin's pretty convinced Loki needs to do his proper time for his crimes."

"And what exactly makes you think Heimdall would let two random humans onto Asgard?" Natasha noted a slight inflection of incredulity in her own voice.

"I don't know." Banner admitted, sighing defeatedly. "Look, I know you probably think I'm completely nuts, but this is a pretty desperate situation. I may not be an actual medical doctor, but it doesn't take one to see he doesn't have much time left."

Natasha looked at Loki again, trembling with fever atop the blankets, and then back at Banner, who had looked away to run the damp cloth over his patient's forehead again. His brown eyes looked nearly overwhelmingly exhausted, but there was a kind of tenderness in them as well that Natasha hadn't seen from him before. She supposed that for someone who constantly had to put a damper on strong emotions, it was safer to avoid feelings of any extent, or at least outwardly. Banner was a good and caring man, that much she knew-he'd been living off of practically nothing in India, providing medical care to the impoverished people suffering from dengue fever-but he always seemed so subdued and nervous. Now she knew he was in his element and finally breaking through the wall he'd had up around himself since the night she'd been sent to bring him back to the States. Was it progress of some sort? Maybe, and maybe it was a good thing. But _Loki_...

"Why, Dr. Banner?" she asked, her voice now soft and purposefully bereft of anger. "Why does saving him mean so much to you? Why do you care about him at all?"

When he turned his eyes upon her, this time she recognized the look there. It was the last expression he had had as Bruce Banner, standing on the desecrated street during the battle, just before the monster had taken over. It was a look of eternal sadness and tortured resignation. It was the look of someone who had long since passed the point of embitterment at their permanent situation and progressed to grudging acceptance. But she knew it didn't make it any easier for him.

"Because I have to give him the chance to make up for what he's done. Everyone deserves that."

"You believe that?" She was serious.

"I have to."

It was barely a whisper, but suddenly Natasha understood. In some weird, unbalanced way, Banner saw himself in Loki. Although he was arguably a million times morally superior to the god of mischief, the doctor had, granted inadvertently, done terrible things for which he felt the need to atone. _That's why he was in Calcutta_, she realized. _He wasn't just hiding. He was making up for what the Hulk did._

Before her thoughts could carry her any further, she heard Clint utter a shaky gasp from where he stood next to her. She turned toward him, glad that he had at least stopped imitating a statue, silent and motionless. He needed to show some anger, some frustration, _something._ But when he turned to look at her, she realized that his reaction wasn't anything she'd been expecting.

"So do I."

"What?" He had sounded surprised, but also full of conviction, and he'd left her mildly confused and very concerned. Now he seemed to still be processing what was occurring in his mind, and taking in the reality of what he'd just said.

"Tasha, if Loki can make up for what he did, then maybe I can, too."

"Clint." She put a hand out to grasp his arm. For a minute, she thought he was going to pull away, but he stayed put. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Neither has Banner," Clint pointed out. Natasha saw the doctor quickly avert his eyes from the pair, suddenly seeming very interested in bathing Loki's forehead again. "But he went halfway around the world to try and make up for what he did when his mind wasn't his own. And even though I find what he said about Loki as hard to believe as you do, I can't help but think that maybe if he at least has a chance, it might...mean something..." He trailed off, shaking his head, but Natasha could read between the lines of his silence. _It might mean there's hope for me._

_Maybe the psychologist was right,_ she thought with an internal shudder. _Maybe he _is_ mentally unbalanced._ She quickly dismissed the thought-she knew he wasn't. She'd known he was thinking just as clearly as he always did when they'd talked on the couch a few days ago. He'd been upset and angry and scared-hence the broken glass-but he was still the Clint she knew.

"Clint," she said softly, tightening her fingers just the slightest bit around his arm. "Think about what you're saying, okay? You've just walked in on the guy who controlled your mind without your permission. It's understandable that things aren't flowing through your head like they usually do. It's okay..."

"Stop it." He suddenly wrenched his hand forcefully from her grasp, stepping backward to put distance between the two of them. He regarded her with a hurt disbelief so strong and unexpected that she actually _felt_ it, like an invisible punch to the abdomen, though years of conditioning prevented her from showing it. All she could do was stare at him, eyes wide and worried and not understanding.

"Clint..." she whispered, knowing how scared and confused he must be and wanting to help, however she could.

"You know who you sound like, Natasha?" He was angry now-it showed in his face and his voice. "You sound like that fucking psychologist. You're being all calm and collected while you're telling me that's it's all just going to take _time_," he spat the word, "but eventually it's going to work itself out. Well I've got news for you, Natasha. I don't think it works like that." He glared at her, chest heaving from the force of his speech and emotions, his hands clenching once more into fists. "I have to do something about this myself. Whether or not you want in is your choice."

Without another word, Clint Barton stormed out of the room, shutting the door loudly behind him, leaving a stunned Natasha to stare at Banner and Loki, trying to comprehend what had just occurred. Banner purposefully didn't look at her-she couldn't imagine how uncomfortably awkward he must be feeling at the moment. Then her eyes flicked to Loki, and she felt the blood begin to simmer dangerously in her veins. This was all his fault. He was the reason Clint was like this-the reason for the nightmares, the insecurities, the eval, and now _this_. Clint would have nothing to feel the need to atone for had it not been for Loki.

The anger was cooling down now, solidifying into an icy hatred that froze her every capillary. She wanted him to suffer, she wanted to draw out his pain as long as possible for destroying the Clint she knew.

"It won't help." Banner's quiet voice broke through the turmoil of her emotions, and she suddenly wondered how long he had been observing her facial expressions.

"What?" Distracted, she turned to face him, puzzled.

"You want to hurt him-you want him to hurt for what he did to Barton, and you want to be the one to do it. I understand the vendetta, but more violence isn't going to solve anything. Enough people have suffered and died because of what Loki did-no one else needs to."

Hating to admit she was trembling now, Natasha stepped backward, away from the doctor and the god in the bed. _No one else needs to get hurt._ A proper spy would have disagreed with that statement-no one else needed to get hurt when what needed to be accomplished had been, and not before. But she wasn't that spy-she was better than that, had a moral code now. And she was aware of that because of one man-the man who had spared her life because he had seen something in her that she could not. And now it was his turn to doubt himself, and she was standing here, letting her anger and hatred overwhelm her, becoming once more the person he'd saved her from. She didn't want to become that person. And Clint was too important to her to let him down.

With a nod to Banner, who returned it with a hint of a smile on his tired face, Natasha Romanoff left the bedroom, retrieving her weapons on the way out. She took the elevator back up to the penthouse, and found Clint exactly where she'd expected to-out on the roof, looking up at the stars.

He turned in mild surprised when he finally heard her coming up behind him. For a moment, she saw his defenses going up again, but when he saw the look in her eyes, he relaxed. Meeting and holding his gaze, she said,

"I'm not doing this for Loki. I couldn't care less if he burns or freezes to death, or if someone were to walk in right now and stab him in the heart. I'm doing this for you. And _only_ for you."

He nodded curtly, and she thought she saw a hint of a half-smile tug at one corner of his mouth. They gazed understandingly at each other for several seconds before Clint returned his eyes to the night sky.

"Okay, Heimdall," he called out uncertainly. "I don't know if you can hear me, but Natasha and I would really like to join our friends-that's Thor and Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. Um, please?"

For a long moment, nothing happened. Clint turned back to look at Natasha, who was surprised to feel her heart sink a little at the lack of response. Then she wasn't sure what had changed, but it had.

But she never saw the parting look on Clint's face, because suddenly everything around her was spinning.


	22. Chapter 22

**So this is the story's longest chapter-nearly 8,000 words by my count! This chapter's got it all-Loki!whump, Bruce!angst, Thor!angst, and Tony FINALLY gets to put on the suit! A lot of thought and creativity went into this chapter, so please let me know if you liked it. Enjoy! (PS.-this one goes out to all the poetry nerds out there.)**

Bruce normally considered himself a fairly patient person. Of course, up next to Tony, _anyone_ looked patient, but even when he'd been on his own, most people who met Bruce found had him even-tempered, durable, and sometimes even meek. Of course, part of that stemmed from the fact that anxiety on his part sometimes had disastrous consequences, but either way, Bruce Banner was usually able to quietly resign himself to whatever situations life threw at him-he'd been chucked quite a few curveballs, after all. He was certainly accustomed to it.

But tonight was a different story altogether. The minutes were dragging, scraping by like prisoners in chains, never mind the hours. After Thor, Tony, and Steve had vanished from the rooftop, Bruce had distracted himself by continuing to diligently place the warmed bags of Lactated Ringer's beneath Loki's arms and on his groin. It was by far the worst bout of cold Loki had had yet-his body temperature had at one point dropped below 90 degrees Fahrenheit-but what concerned Bruce the most was the fact that Loki had stopped shivering. When this fact came to his attention, he had begun to rub the god's limbs and torso vigorously with one of his blankets. Loki had remained oblivious to the entire procedure, the extreme temperature swings finally having become too much for his exhausted body to bear. Bruce had little doubt that he would not wake again should the others fail in their mission.

And then had come the fever, granting its sufferer no period of rest this time. Loki had gone straight from freezing to burning, his temperature rising at such a speed that Bruce marveled that he continued to breathe. As thin as Loki was, Bruce was not a large man, and in his human form he could not manage to carry the god to the jacuzzi by himself, so all he could do was remove his blankets and bathe his forehead and neck with a damp cloth. The first time he had performed this action-it had been in Calcutta-it had felt almost archaic to the doctor, who until that point had based his career on technology and lived his life with an overall modern and progressive theme. But in an impoverished city rampant with illness, the humanity of it all had struck him like an oncoming semi. And at the same time, there was something comforting in the action, often to both him and the patient. It helped sick people to know that there was someone who cared enough for them to sit by their side and tend to them for hours, he had learned. He doubted Loki knew he was there now, but the only comfort Bruce himself could find was in the repetitive action. At least he felt like he was doing _something_ to help ease Loki's suffering, even if was just a little bit. He was surprised at how much he had come to care about the god who had so recently been his enemy, because he had come to realize that underneath the malice and the hatred and the dangerous ambition, there was over a millennium of hurt that had not quite completely destroyed the inklings of love and affection and a surprising humanity that resided within Loki. Loki was hurting, and Bruce didn't like to see anyone hurting-he had an innate desire to fix things, to fix _people_, a point which drove home the irony of his alter ego all the more. He had meant what he'd said to Natasha-everyone, even Loki, deserved a chance to atone for their wrongdoing. Because if Bruce didn't believe that, then what _could_ he believe in?

He squeezed the washcloth into the bowl for what seemed like the thousandth time and turned back to his patient, and did a double-take when he saw green eyes looking back at him. For a moment, a hope against all hope leapt in his heart-if Loki was awake, then maybe something in his body was finally winning this fight. But the spark was quickly snuffed out when he saw the unfocused gaze against the glassy sheen of the irises. It was merely a fluke, then-a brief regaining of semi-consciousness, only for Loki to be dragged back under the crashing waves of oblivion.

Either way, Bruce attempted to elicit some sort of reaction from his patient, to reassure him at the very least.

"Hey, Loki," he said softly, rubbing his patient's arm gently to get his attention. "Can you hear me?"

Loki's eyes suddenly began to rove quickly around the room, wildly scanning for something he was obviously desperate for-the only thing on his mind.

"Thor," he half whispered, half whimpered, his voice hoarse from thirst and exhaustion. Bruce quickly understood-of course the first thing Loki would think about upon waking up would be his brother. Thor was essentially all he had, after all. Everything had been stripped from him-his magic, his health, his dignity, even his ability to find peace in sleep. The only thing remaining for him to cling to was his brother's loving embrace.

"It's okay," Bruce soothed, continuing the physical contact of rubbing Loki's arm. "Thor's going to be back really soon. He went to Asgard to get your magic back so you'll get better." Bruce wasn't sure if that was the truth, but at this point it didn't matter. What Loki needed right now was reassurance.

But even so, he was having none of it. The fever and exhaustion were playing games with his mind, and all Loki could process was the fact that Thor wasn't there. He dissolved almost instantaneously into tears, whimpering and sobbing and calling his brother's name. Bruce continued to try to comfort him, but his efforts were in vain. It was as though Loki was blind and deaf to his presence-the only thing he knew, the only thing that mattered, was that Thor was gone. Bruce knew that Loki was, in his mind, utterly and completely alone. And dying.

It was mere minutes before weariness caught up with Loki, and he was unable to sustain his fit of emotion. With a final sob, he gave one more heartbreaking whimper of his brother's name before his eyes closed once more. Bruce swallowed painfully past the lump that had arisen in his throat, and he found his fingers closing protectively over Loki's thin wrist. Unbidden, he recalled the most famous and haunting stanza from T. S. Eliot's poem _The Hollow Men_, which he had read for the first time by flashlight one night when he was thirteen years old. That night, like many nights, had ended in his father doing bodily harm to his mother, leaving Bruce scurrying up to his room and curling up beneath his blankets, trying and failing to hold back tears of rage and fear and desperation. He would read on those nights, sometimes to escape, but other times to know that there were other people out there who had troubles just as he did. He didn't know what had possessed him to pick up the poetry anthology and turn to Eliot's poem that night, but in it he had found no comfort, only chilling words that had reaffirmed the truth of his hopeless situation. He had shut the heavy book and shoved it in the drawer of his nightstand and proceeded to cry himself to sleep that night. But years later, in a scholarly attempt to be more well-read, he'd found the courage to return to the poem, and it had become, in a macabre way, one of his favorites. But despite all of the suffering and death he'd seen in Calcutta, the literal truth of the final stanza had not occurred to him in the same way it had when he was thirteen. Not until now.

"_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_Not with a bang but a whimper."_

_How horribly ironic,_ he thought, _for someone who once stood tall and proud, for a _god_, to die so sick and weak and undignified._

_A whimper._

Suddenly, he felt Loki's wrist twitch beneath his grasp. Turning his attention immediately back to his patient, Bruce felt nauseous with fear when he saw Loki's eyes rolling back in his head, the dilated vessels of his sclera showing but the green irises hidden. The wrist was yanked out of Bruce's hand when Loki's whole body convulsed violently, seemingly his every muscle spasming with such force that the king-sized bed creaked.

For one terrifying moment, Bruce was absolutely positive he was going to Hulk out. He could literally _hear_ his heart pounding in his ears-something he hadn't been able to hear (or at least, not that he could consciously recall) since before his accident. He shut his eyes and tried to block out the noise of the creaking bed and the horrifying picture of the seizing Loki from his mind. He breathed slowly and deeply, lying to himself, telling himself that a few seconds would not make a difference. He needed to calm down before he could do anything else. He couldn't Hulk out, he just _couldn't_. Not now. He was the only person in the tower with Loki. Loki was so helpless-there was no way he could defend himself if the Other Guy decided to continue smashing his previous plaything into Tony's floor. And it wasn't just that Loki _didn't_ need the Hulk, it was that he _did_ need Bruce Banner, just like Tony had said days ago in the lab. He needed the doctor to wave a healing hand and stop the seizing, to keep him alive until Thor returned-or at the very least to make him as comfortable as possible as he lived out the last few hours of his life. Bruce wasn't sure he had that healing hand, or even the ability to comfort, but he had to give himself the chance to _try_.

And then somehow, against all odds, he felt his heartbeat begin to slow and soften. His eyes shot open when an unearthly moan erupted from his patient, sending a chill down his spine. But this time, haunting as it was, he was able to block it out and maintain control of his reaction. He'd been trained for what to do when someone was having a grand mal seizure-no doubt this was a result of Loki's high fever, although he'd never heard of an adult having a febrile seizure before. But then again, it wasn't as though Loki was like any patient he'd ever had.

Loki was already lying on his side in the recovery position Bruce had rolled him into when he had first lost consciousness. That was good-he wouldn't aspirate if he vomited. The last thing Loki needed on his plate right now was pneumonia. Bruce checked him over quickly for any restrictions in his clothing, even though he had stripped the god down to the bare minimum when his temperature had begun to rise. Nothing had become entangled or tight. Confident that there was nothing more he could do at Loki's side at the moment, Bruce hurried for the elevator.

Instead of going to one of the top floors, where the medical lab was located, Bruce pressed the button for only a couple of floors up, where his own bedroom was housed. Entering his small slice of the enormous tower, he dug through the top drawer of his nightstand. It was where he kept things that needed to be most easily accessible-his wallet, an extra pair of glasses (in case he was ever unfortunate enough to Hulk out when he was wearing his), and his Valium, the anti-anxiety drug he kept on hand for periods of increased stress. Sometimes it helped, and sometimes it didn't. But what he did know was that, in addition to its ability to calm a panic attack (and in his case, bring down the heart rate at least to a non-Hulk level), it was also an anticonvulsant. He shoved aside the dissolvable pills-he knew better than to give anything orally to someone who was unconscious, let alone when they were in the middle of a grand mal seizure-and located a syringe of the injectable version of the drug.

Returning to Loki's bedroom, Bruce noted with worry that his patient was still seizing with as much force as he had been when Bruce had left. He had hoped that maybe the fit would pass, but it was clear now that it was doubtful it would be over any time soon without some chemical assistance. He pressed down hard on Loki's twitching left arm and, after flushing the catheter as quickly as he dared, he emptied the entire dosage of Valium into Loki's bloodstream. For ten agonizing minutes, the god's muscles continued to spasm, and Bruce had to stuff cotton in his ears to drown out the gut-wrenching sound of the unearthly wailing. But then, finally, both the cries and the seizing stopped, and Loki relaxed, still unconscious, sinking into the bed like a deadweight.

Bruce took several deep breaths, letting them each out in a shaky sigh of relief. Thank goodness _that_ was over, although there was no guarantee it wouldn't happen again. But at least for the moment, things were calm.

After taking a good thirty much-needed seconds to calm down as well as congratulate himself on not losing control throughout the whole ordeal, Bruce returned to his earlier action of bathing Loki's forehead, now incredibly grateful for the repetitive action. He would take monotony over another excitement like that any day. One just couldn't afford to be an adrenaline junkie when they were unfortunate enough to bear his...condition.

More importantly, he didn't think Loki could handle another episode like that. His patient's breathing had become even worse than before-the raspy, labored breaths of a dying man. Bruce swallowed hard and decided against taking the cotton out of his ears. Maybe if he just kept up the cycle-dip, squeeze, bathe, repeat-then somehow everything would turn out alright. He knew it wasn't going to happen, but who knew how many hours he and Loki had left to wait out, there in the dimly punctured darkness?

_Not with a bang, but a whimper..._

_~~~The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~_

Fortunately for all of them, it did not take either of Thor's mortal companions quite as long to recover from the force of the transportation spell this time. Stark managed to retain the contents of his stomach (although this could arguably have been because he had nothing left to lose), and both were sitting up within a minute, and on their feet, albeit shakily, in three.

"Holy polar bears," said Stark when he managed to regain control of his muscular reflexes and was able to stand up straight. "It is really freaking cold." He looked disheartened, as though he had attempted to prepare himself for this but had been unable to imagine the sheer frigidity of the realm. Next to him, Rogers pulled the Asgardian fur cloak he donned tighter about his torso. Thor sighed sadly.

"I am sorry you must deal with this uncomfortable state of affairs, my friends. I am well aware that the inhabitants of Midgard are not as physically hearty as the Aesir. I will try to conclude my business here as quickly as possible, for everyone's sake." His heart clenched as he thought of Loki. _Hold on for just a little while longer, little brother. We are close now._

"Who are you calling 'not physically hearty'?" protested the rather diminutive Stark, mock-glaring at Thor, who could not help but smile a little. What the small metal man lacked in size, he more than made up for in charisma, that much Thor could not deny.

Rogers chuckled softly. Thor worried just a little bit less for him-his enhanced metabolism and bulky muscle would no doubt assist in keeping him warm-but Thor resolved to watch _both_ of his friends very closely for signs of hypothermia.

"Why don't you just put on your suit, Stark?" inquired Rogers with a raised eyebrow as the inventor folded his arms in a self-hug and tried valiantly to act as though he wasn't cold. "It's temperature-regulated, isn't it?"

"I don't want to drain the power-I'll need it for if we have to fight. And if Thor calls the lightning now to charge me up, he'll alert the Frost-the Jotuns to our presence. We need guerilla tactics here, right?"

Rogers nodded understandingly. He might not understand the concept of a rechargeable battery, but he was a tactical genius, and he agreed with Stark's assessment. He then turned to Thor.

"So, just how far are we away from...wherever Helblindi lives?"

Thor squinted through the darkness (it was always dark in Jotunheim), across the flat, snowy plain of ice, and could _just_ see the faintest glow of a light in the distance.

"Not far. A few hours' walk, perhaps."

"A few _hours_?" Stark whined. "That's like, forever!"

"The Allfather no doubt deposited us as close as he dared to the palace without detection. The land here is very flat."

"Then how do we plan to sneak up on them? Won't they see us coming?" Rogers was obviously trying to puzzle through this in his mind.

Thor was silent for several seconds then, thinking long and hard. Then finally, just as Stark was about to wave a hand rudely in front of his face and ask if he had fallen asleep, he responded,

"We don't."

"Huh?" Both of his companions looked thoroughly confused.

"We will not sneak up on them at all. I do not want to further incite them-they are already angry with Asgard, and I do not wish to give them any more reason to harm her or her people. And...now that I know...I find that I do not wish to fight someone to whom my brother is so strongly connected. I will enter as a friend and talk with Helblindi."

"So no guerilla tactics?" asked Stark, obviously a bit confused.

Thor shook his head. "It is time I fixed the harm I have caused." He sighed deeply and sadly and looked once more toward those smallest of lights, far off in the distance.

"So, does that mean we can fly now? Like, you'll recharge me if needed?"

Jumping from his deep thought, it took Thor an extra moment to nod in response.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Uh, hello," piped up Rogers. "I don't know if anyone's noticed, but I can't fly like you two. My shield doesn't...levitate."

"Don't worry, Captain Just A Normal Human Being. You can catch a ride with me and my Fantastic Flying Suit of Awesome!" said Stark, who had already donned his red and gold armor. Rogers regarded him warily, but then he obviously recalled that Barton had come just fine out of a similar experience, and nodded his consent.

"Um, okay. Just not too tightly around the torso, please."

"Yeah, whatever. See you on the other side, Point Break." And with that, Stark shut his visor and grabbed Rogers firmly, arms encircling his ribs, and then shot off into the blackened sky via one bright beam from his armored hand. Thor swung Mjolnir in a tight circle, feeling the familiar, exciting hum of electricity course through his body. Lightning lit up the sky and the thunder split his ears, and then he too, was flying through the air, his hammer stretched out in front of him, blazing his aerial trail. He soon passed Stark and Rogers, and an incredibly short time later, he landed approximately two hundred yards to the side of the palace of Jotunheim.

The palace was surrounded by something of a moat, complete with a drawbridge. However, instead of water, the moat's substance-or rather lack thereof-was an inky blackness identical to that into which Loki had descended when he had fallen from the Bifrost. This was Jotunheim's entrance into the Dark World-a fall into it would send the unfortunate victim to the same horrifying place Loki had ended up, the land of insanity and evil. It was, actually, the ideal form of protection for the palace, Thor had to concede.

The structure itself held nothing of the glories of his own royal home. Instead of vast rooms and wings and balconies and gold trim, the rooms, furnishings, _everything_ was made of ice. There were no decorations, no frivolities at all. Every room was exposed to the bone-chilling cold, and from where he stood, Thor could see the throne. Upon it sat a tall figure, nigh Thor's height plus half again, its skin a deep shade of blue and its eyes a haunting red. Thor could not see the elaborate ridges in its skin from this distance, but he could imagine them, running from the forehead down across the cheeks and then the neck. He felt himself recoiling at the strangeness held within the thought, and then stopped and silently berated himself. He wished it were easier to break a millennium of prejudice and disgust-for if he could not learn to accept all the Jotuns, Thor knew that Loki would never believe that Thor loved him for who he was. _If he lives to get the chance._ Thor tried to force the thought down. Now was not the time for despair.

Fortunately, just then his companions landed at his side. Rogers slipped off of Stark's back, looking a little shaky and ever so slightly green.

"Too many strange forms of travel for one day," he muttered, shaking his head vigorously as though to clear it.

"Aw, come on. You had fun." Thor could almost see Stark grinning behind his mask.

"That was the roughest flight I've ever been on. And I crashed a plane into the ocean," Rogers deadpanned.

"Yeah well, stability isn't exactly at its highest with your giant _self_ dragging me down. It was all I could do to stay in the air!"

Thor suddenly raised a hand to quiet their bickering, for he had caught a glimpse of movement through the snow. Squinting, he could indeed make out four Jotun guards making their way at a ground-covering walk towards the three travelers.

"Well, we're in deep now," said Stark softly.

Thor turned to his talkative mortal friend and spoke kindly and calmly. "I know how much you enjoy participating in conversation, Stark, but this situation could become very dangerous for you if you speak or make any move to attack these people, for they far outnumber us. Do you understand?"

Stark mimicked the closing of a zipper with his mouth and fingers and smiled without showing his teeth. Thor supposed that was as good of a response as he was going to get.

"Come then, let us make the guards' journey shorter," he murmured gravely. He sent up a silent prayer to the Norns and then started forward, Stark and Rogers on his heels. When they were within thirty feet of the advancing guards, one of them called out in command,

"Halt!"

His voice was deep and rough, unearthly. Thor remembered how, when Loki had suffered from nightmares about the Jotuns as a child, one of the things that had appeared to disturb him the most was that voice, characteristic of the race. Then, Thor had not known how his brother even knew what a Frost Giant sounded like-they had never encountered one before. He had not been able to imagine exactly what Loki was hearing, but now he could certainly understand how it might serve to frighten a small child.

Thor halted as he was asked, and Stark and Rogers followed suit. Within seconds, the Jotuns were upon them.

"What business have you here, Asgardian?" The growl was hostile, almost hateful. Thor forced himself to maintain contact with the unfriendly red eyes as he responded.

"We have business with King Helblindi," he said evenly.

"What _business_?" hissed the guard.

"I would prefer to reserve that information for the King, if it's all the same to you." Thor kept his tone as respectful as possible while making sure his meaning was abundantly clear. He thought he was being very diplomatic. Loki would be proud.

The guard growled in frustration. "Very well. But you will leave your weapons," he gestured at Mjolnir and the Captain's shield, "at the gate." Then he turned to Stark. "I do not know what this...contraption is, but..."

"It's just to keep me warm," said Stark quickly. "I'm really sensitive to the cold. If I come out, I might freeze to death. Thin skin and all that."

The giant snorted, but did not argue. Two guards moved to flank the little group, and together they walked toward the palace. Thor grudgingly left his beloved hammer at the gate, just on the inside of the drawbridge, and then strode, unarmed but head held high, up to the throne. It was then that he saw King Helblindi for the first time. His skin was the deepest blue Thor had ever seen on a Jotun, and his eyes the most violent crimson. His markings were extensive and prominent, and he was even taller, and more muscular and physically imposing, than Thor had perceived from where he had stood before, outside the palace walls. He was, Thor thought, the perfect specimen of a Jotun, for he knew the race valued size above all other qualities. He wondered briefly what had occurred to cause the first child of Laufey and Farbauti to be born so small, if their second had such stature.

"Well." Helblindi's voice was almost a cackle, caught between amusement and hatred. "You have great courage to show your face here, little Asgardian prince."

Thor shook off the jab and went forward with his intent.

"I am Thor, son of Odin, and these are my friends, Anthony Stark and Steven Rogers. We have come on an urgent errand for which we would beg your Majesty's indulgence." He had to plan each word to make sure he did not accidentally offend the king. It felt so odd-certainly it was different than his previous method of Jotun negotiation. But it did not appear to be working any better than that way had. Helblindi snarled at him.

"My indulgence? You come to our realm with your little warrior friends and slaughter our people over a relic and now you come to seek my _indulgence_?"

"Please," said Thor softly, his heart sinking to his boots. This was not going the way he had hoped. "My brother is terribly ill, and I need assistance in saving his life. I understand that you are in possession of the Casket of Ancient Winters..."

"So that is what you have come for? You steal the Casket-which is rightfully ours-a millennium ago and not two days after we finally reclaim it, you come asking for me to _give_ it back? Your stupidity amazes me, princeling."

"I only wish to borrow it! All I ask is to take it to Midgard with me just long enough to restore my brother's magic. I shall return it immediately, I swear to you."

Helblindi's expression changed then, from fierce to a combination of mild amusement and curiosity. If he had had eyebrows, Thor thought he would have raised one of them.

"So _that_ is the punishment Odin has concocted for his little stolen prince, then? Allow me to speculate-the Allfather thought to teach the little traitor a lesson by taking away his sorcery, without even considering that the consequences might be different than for one of your common Aesir?" He infused the final two words with menace, and Thor felt his hand clenching almost unconsciously into a fist, despite the absence of Mjolnir's handle against his palm. Helblindi continued.

"I see by your face that I am correct. Tell me, Odin's son, does your great king, your Allfather, think through the affairs of _any_ people but his own before he acts? Or is it only our race, the Jotun, who he seeks to pretend do not exist?"

Thor swallowed past a dry throat, his mind reeling as he tried to decipher what the king was trying to imply. "I do not...I am afraid I do not understand..."

"Of course you do not understand, you block-headed fool! If your Allfather had done the smallest bit of research before he subjected one whom he considers to be his own _son_ to such a fate, he would never have done so. While your Aesir are only occasionally gifted with the power of sorcery, it is an integral part of the being of a Jotun. It is not an accessory, as the Asgardians seem to consider it, something to be used at parties and to show off in battle. It is a part of who we are, as vital to us as the heart or the lung or the gut. Tell me, how much did the little runt squeal as Odin stripped him of the very force keeping him alive?"

The question was asked with a low cackle, and Thor thought his blood had frozen within his veins-and not just because of the frigid air. He could still hear Loki's screams and see him writhing on the floor of the throne room as their father stood over him. Odin had said that the extraction was so Loki could not hurt himself or others-but none of them had known that it was actually the cruelest possible thing he could have done. Thor had been concentrating so thoroughly on the most obviously detrimental part of Loki's punishment-the nightmares-that he had completely overlooked the extraction, the thing that was actually killing his brother.

"We thought the Tesseract's energy was still too tightly bound to Loki's magic, and that was what was causing him such pain. My father never...not on purpose..."

"Of course," hissed Helblindi. "The Allfather loves his little traitor. He would never _purposefully_ subject him to torture. Oh, yes," he explained at the horrified look on Thor's face. "Your people have always called us _monsters_ for a reason. Although this particular punishment is reserved only for the most heinous of crimes-treason and murder. The prisoners endure the agony of having their magic stripped and then are locked in the dungeon for weeks. It starts with a little mild discomfort, but when it _truly_ begins, when the cold and the heat really take over, there is no relief to be found. Your _brother_ should consider himself lucky he had someone there to care for him."

"So you subject your prisoners to death by this torture as punishment?" Thor asked. He tried not to think about what would have become of Loki had he, Thor, not been there to hold him during the chills and bathe him during the fevers. If he had been all alone, in the freezing cold of Jotunheim, when the shivers wracked his body...no, he mustn't think about Loki now. He had a mission to accomplish.

"Oh, no. We are not such a savage race as that." There was a cruel brand of irony in Helblindi's voice. "Just before they lose consciousness irrevocably, their powers are returned to them. Although it appears Odin has chosen not to be so merciful to his little runt."

"My father would not knowingly sentence Loki to his death! Loki is one of you. Should he not receive the same punishment for his crimes as the rest of your prisoners? He has already fallen into a state of unawareness; he has more than served his sentence. Allow him to live, to learn from his mistakes. Please, I will beg it of you if I must..."

"Save your breath and your knees, Asgardian," spat Helblindi. "Your little prince is getting the amercement he deserves. Are you really so stupid as to think that following his actions against our realm, we would do anything to help him? You seem to forget, Odin's son, that your so-called _brother _not only tried to destroy Jotunheim, but murdered our king as well. Not only was Laufey Loki's own father, but he was _mine_ as well. And if you believe for one moment that I am going to allow my father's life to go unavenged, then I am afraid you are even duller than you look. Let him suffer, let him die. It is no more than he deserves."

"So it is vengeance you want?" Thor's voice was barely a murmur.

"Yes," was the responding growl, low and fierce and angry.

Time seemed to slow down with the knowledge of what Thor was about to do. It was as though the universe was attempting to give him the time he needed to consider his next actions. But he needed no time, he thought. He knew exactly what he needed to do, and he did not hesitate.

"Then take my life in exchange for his. Send the Casket back to Midgard with my friends, and kill me as recompense for the wrong my brother has done you. Would not the future king of Asgard be a more worthy prize than one of your own people?"

Thor heard Rogers's sharp intake of breath behind him, and then Stark's shout.

"Thor, are you _nuts_? You can't do that!"

"Silence!" Thor barked, hoping his voice hadn't actually shaken as much as it sounded like it had to his own ears. He was sorry to need to do this to his friends, but he could not let Loki die. He had always said he would do anything for his brother-now it was time to prove that he meant it. If this was how he needed to show Loki how sorry he was for all of his wrongs toward him, then so be it. "This is my choice, and nothing will dissuade me. King Helblindi," he said, turning back to the Jotun, "will you accept my offer?"

Helblindi seemed to be contemplating the proposal with much concentration. "Is this truly what you wish?" he asked at length.

"Yes," replied Thor, again without so much as a breath of hesitation. "If taking a life is the only way to settle this, then I offer mine, if only you will spare his."

Even through the darkness of the moment, Thor had to pride himself a little on being able to elicit a look of slight incredulity from the face of the Jotun king. "Well now," rasped Helblindi, "this is an unexpected turn of events. How very..._noble_ of you, Asgardian, to offer your own life to save a lowly _Frost Giant_." He spat the term, indicating his aversion to the way the Asgardians thought of his own race. Thor felt his heart burn at the tone, and he stood straight, meeting the king's eye and holding it in his own intense gaze. He spoke with conviction, his voice as deep and strong and sure as it had ever been, as though he were giving a rousing speech to his warriors rather than about to go to his own execution.

"Loki's heritage and blood mean naught to me. I care not what he looks like, nor where he comes from, or even who his blood relatives are. I care about the games we played together as children, the way he used to laugh after playing a prank on me, and how he still looks to me for comfort when he is hurting. I am sorry for the rift between our peoples-if I could turn back time, I would not seek any quarrel with you and would maintain the truce. I know now how wrong I was to believe that the Jotuns were nothing but savages, although if I did not have Loki to demonstrate that, I might still believe otherwise." Thor saw Helblindi's scarlet eyes narrow, but he continued nonetheless. "But as for Loki, he is my _brother_, and nothing-not anger nor hatred nor fear of death-can be stronger than my love for him."

"How touching," sniggered Helblindi. "Such devotion. It is a pity you will be dead when your brother wakes to thank you for your noble gesture. But never mind. I am sure he will be grateful to have his miserable, wretched life back."

Thor closed his eyes, trying his hardest to block out the Jotun king's words. But the images came to his mind anyway-Loki finally opening his eyes, weak from his illness, calling Thor's name. The others having to break the news to him. Loki awaking from his nightmares, sobbing, all alone. The worst of the dreams-the one where he was left grieving over his lost brother-coming true. It was like one of the Jotun had already conjured an ice dagger and staked him through the heart with it. He had not felt anything like it since the moment he had watched Loki fall into the blackness beneath the Bifrost, and he had to struggle to keep the tears at bay. _My brother, I am so sorry..._

"But to prove to you we are not quite the savages you think we are," Helblindi was saying, "we will give your friends the Casket before killing you. I will send warriors to retrieve it in two days' time. The exchange at that time will be carried out peacefully on both sides-should one of your mortals choose to act otherwise, there will be bloodshed. Is that clear?"

Both Stark and Rogers nodded furiously. From the look on Stark's face, Thor thought he might outburst again, but for once he held his tongue. _Well, there is something positive in all of this, then. At least my last few moments outside of Valhalla will be peaceful._

"Very well," said Helblindi. Then he addressed his guards. "Bind him."

Thor was forced to his knees by two giants who came up behind him. He did not struggle as ropes made of ice wound themselves around his wrists and ankles, and even though they burned his skin, he did not cry out. His eyes remained on Helblindi, who with a wave of his hands brought into view the Casket of Ancient Winters. He then rose from his throne to place it in the hands of Steve Rogers, who barely took a moment to gaze upon its glowing beauty before turning back to look at Thor with eyes filled to the brim with tears.

This was it. The Casket was in friendly hands. It was time.

"My friends," said Thor softly. He paused, but when Helblindi made no move to quiet him, he pressed onward. "I thank you for accompanying me on this journey, and I am sorry that it has ended this way. No matter where you are, if you call for Heimdall, he will alert my father to send you back to Midgard. And please, if you will..." _Stay strong, Thor. Keep your voice steady and your eyes dry. Do not let them see tears your heart weeps. _"...tell Loki that I love him, and that I am sorry for everything. And, if it is not too much trouble, please look after him. I know that he has wreaked havoc and destruction upon your home, but I need to know he will be cared for."

"Yeah. Bruce and I will take care of him." Stark's voice sounded oddly husky, as though he was having to try harder than normal to put substance behind it. Thor gave him a nod of understanding.

"Then I can die in peace, though I would prefer neither of you observe my execution. Goodbye, Anthony Stark and Steven Rogers. And thank you."

Thor wished he could have looked upon his fellow warriors one last time, but it was important that he die with dignity, for the sake of his realm. And he knew that if he saw their faces, saw their grief, he would lose his battle against the tears. He would _not_ weep, even though it would not have been for his own demise. It would have been for his brother, whom he would be leaving behind without his protector and comforter.

So instead, Thor turned his thoughts to his childhood on Asgard. Every memory that came to his mind involved Loki. Chasing each other through the gardens, curled up together in bed, embraces filled with love...yes, these were what he wished his final thoughts to be. He would think them until the end, and maybe, just _maybe _if he concentrated on them hard enough, he would not think of the chill and burning agony of the ice dagger stopping his heart.

But there were voices, pricking at the edge of his consciousness like the annoying buzzing of a fly. He cursed them internally-could his death not at least be peaceful? He tried to block them out and think about his brother once more, until he heard a voice he recognized very clearly as someone who should not at that moment be on Jotunheim.

"Not so fast there, Big Guy."

Thor's eyes shot open to behold none other than Clint Barton, standing atop one of the ice walls surrounding the open-roofed throne room. The archer's face was barely visible beneath the hood of the thick fur he was wearing, but he clearly had an arrow trained upon the Jotun king's heart. Helblindi raised a hand slowly, making to signal to his guards, but Barton spoke confidently, remaining still as he focused his aim.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. They make one move, and they get a bullet in the brain."

Thor turned his head to see Natasha Romanoff, a pistol in each hand, standing on the other end of the wall, the two guards who had forced Thor to his knees moments before in her sights.

Helblindi appeared to be allowing the realty of the situation to sink in while simultaneously considering his options. However, when he finally spoke, he sounded confident, almost overly so.

"Ah, more mortals. The realm seems to be overrun with them today. Fortunately, it will not take long for any of you to freeze to death. But even in the meantime, you cannot hope to stand up to us. You are far outnumbered. Dozens of guards surround the perimeter of this palace."

"Dozens of guards who we just snuck past?" asked Natasha Romanoff, cocking one red eyebrow.

For a fraction of a moment, Helblindi looked concerned, but he quickly hid the expression. "All the same, they will come at my call. I will give you one opportunity to lower your weapons and return to your home realm with your friends here. But the Asgardian prince is mine."

"Sorry, but that's just not gonna work out," said Barton, never relaxing his aim. "See, I kinda like Thor, and I'm not gonna stand for you killing him just because you want revenge for something his stupid brother did. In fact, I'll let you in on a little secret-you're not the only one who wouldn't mind a little getting back at Loki. If I weren't here aiming my bow at you, I'd be first in line to board the revenge train. Which basically means, I don't really care what happens to him. He can melt into a puddle or turn into a popsicle-either way, I wouldn't bat an eyelash. Therefore, I have no need of your precious Casket. So, here's the deal. Either you let Thor go and let us go back to Earth or Midgard or whatever you call it with the Casket, or it gets chucked into your little moat of darkness over there. So which is it gonna be?"

Thor felt even more nauseous than he had at the prospect of being executed. _Barton, no! This was my choice. My life for Loki's. I know he has wronged you, but please do not interfere._ But something kept him from actually voicing his thoughts as he watched the scene play out before his eyes.

Helblindi scoffed. "You would never make it to the Casket in time. The moment you remove your aim from my heart, my guards will embed daggers of ice into your soft, mortal flesh."

Out of the corner of his eye, Thor saw Natasha Romanoff nod toward Rogers, tilting her head just the slightest bit toward the drawbridge. Thor furrowed his brow in confusion, but Rogers, ever the tactical genius, obviously took her meaning. Slowly, almost unnoticeably, he began to inch his way backward toward the drawbridge, the Casket still in his arms.

"Uh-huh, see, you're missing a part of the story here," said Barton suavely. "_I _don't have to be the one to throw it in. See, Steve over here's not too happy with Loki either. He kinda broke his city with his whole take-over-the-world conquest. Now, Steve's a pretty good guy, I'll give him that. I don't think he'd just go looking to get revenge, even on somebody like Loki. However, if I were to, say, point my arrow at his head, I'm pretty sure he'd drop that Casket into the moat to save his own skin. The Captain's a good man, but he's still a man." And with that, Clint Barton turned away from Helblindi to train his arrow upon Steve Rogers, who by this point had reached the moat and was now dangling the Casket of Ancient Winters over its inky blackness by one hand. Steve looked rather genuinely worried, and Thor's own emotions echoed the sentiment. If the Casket fell, it would be forever lost, and with it, Loki.

Barton spoke again, his voice low and severe this time.

"So, what'll it be? Are you gonna let Thor go, are you going to let yourself and all your people suffer the same fate you sentence your prisoners to?"

The silence lasted an eternity, or at least it seemed to Thor. The Jotun king's eyes flicked constantly from Barton to Romanoff to Rogers and back again. At last, the silence was broken, but not by Helblindi.

"It's checkmate, buddy. You just gotta face it. You can't win 'em all."

Had it not been for the dangerously teetering equilibrium of the situation, Thor would have sworn aloud. Apparently Tony Stark had reached his absolute limit of silence and could not retain his words for a moment longer.

Helblindi snarled in the direction of the man in the suit of armor, but obviously Stark's words had opened his eyes to the true hopelessness of the situation. He nodded to his guards, one of whom approached Thor and held his hand over his bound wrists. The ice immediately melted away, and then Thor felt the same warmth on his ankles. Rubbing his raw wrists, he got slowly to his feet and went to stand next to Stark. He had to tell himself to stand tall and not allow his legs to shake as the effects of what had just almost occurred caught up with him. _Not yet._

Romanoff scaled down the wall first, while Barton kept his bow trained on Helblindi. Then, Natasha returned the favor for the archer. Finally, all five Avengers exited the palace, with Thor and Rogers retrieving their respective belongings before they crossed the drawbridge. The entire time, one bow, two pistols, and two repulser beams were aimed on the king of Jotunheim.

The moment they were outside the palace, Thor thrusted Mjolnir into the sky and called out to Heimdall to alert the Allfather that they were ready to return to Midgard. It was mere seconds before the world was spinning around him, and when Thor opened his eyes he was looking at the stars of Midgard-_Orion's Belt, like Jane said_-from the roof of Stark Tower.


	23. Chapter 23

**Hi, guys! So, you get Chapter 23 a day early. Here's why: I'm moving on Friday and Saturday (back to school time!), so I needed to post Chapter 24 on Thursday instead of Friday. So, Chapter 23 today, 24 on Thursday, and then we'll get back to the regular schedule the following Tuesday. Sorry for changing things up on you again, and thanks for understanding! With only a few chapters left, I just want to thank you guys for being such a fantastically supportive and understanding audience. I reached the 300 review mark last chapter, which is higher than I ever would have dreamed. I do read each and every one of your reviews, and I get excited whenever I see that I have another one. So thank you, and I hope you enjoy Chapter 23! :)**

Even from the seventy-ninth floor, which was well below the penthouse, Bruce heard the distinctive _thud _on the roof of the tower. Four hours had passed since Loki's febrile seizure, and the god of mischief had shown no signs of either cooling down or waking up since then. As much as it unnerved him, Bruce had finally taken the cotton out of his ears to better observe his patient, whose breathing had grown weaker, more shallow, and more erratic by the hour. Bruce had moved a ventilator into the bedroom and covered Loki's nose with the mask, but it had had little effect. So when he heard the arrival of his friends, the doctor closed his eyes in relief. Even if they'd been unsuccessful in getting the Casket back, at least Thor would be there to say goodbye to his little brother. It wouldn't be long now, Bruce knew.

Less than sixty seconds later, Thor came rushing into the bedroom. Bruce quickly stood, vacating the chair he had been sitting in so the god of thunder could sit at his brother's side. It was when Thor did so that Bruce noticed the glinting of blue light coming from an object he held in his hands. The doctor squinted tired eyes and blinked. It appeared to be some sort of box, roughly rectangular in shape but with convexities and concavities. Designs adorned its panels, and there were handles carved into its sides. But it was the light emanating from the object that really caught his attention. He had seen that blue gleam before, the kind of light that moved as though it contained particles whose motion had been tempered by cold temperatures. It looked very much like the Tesseract.

He was dwelling on this when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, the reaction a bit delayed by his exhaustion, to behold Tony Stark standing next to him, now stripped of his Iron Man armor. His friend looked as weary as he felt.

"Is that...?" he murmured, although he really did not need clarification.

"Yeah, apparently," replied Tony quietly. "Hell of a trip getting it. Tell you later."

"Dr. Banner," whispered Steve, coming up on his other side, obviously not wishing to interrupt Thor's moment with Loki. "Is he still..." He trailed off, obviously assuming the doctor would take his meaning. Bruce glanced over at him, mentally taking in his flushed cheeks, wind-blown hair, reddened eyes, and general air of exhaustion.

"Yeah," he responded with an equally low volume. "Not by a lot, but we've still got him."

He then noticed Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton in the corner by the door. They were both wearing furs, as were Tony, Steve, and Thor-_where the heck did they get those?_-and were sort of huddled together like they were trying to warm up while at the same time stay out of the way. Bruce wondered what kind of story his little group of friends would have to tell when this was over. But now was not the time. They had a supervillain to save-if, that was, he could be saved.

Thor had lay down the Casket on the bed in front of his brother, who still lay on his side, and placed both of Loki's hands on the handles.

"Loki," he said softly, running a hand through his brother's hair. "Loki, I have returned with the Casket. Brother..." He looked around rather desperately at his friends. "I am afraid I do not know how exactly to get Loki's magic from the Casket and back into him. I know nothing of sorcery or innate powers-other than my own, that is-and I am afraid I am rather lost."

"Well, don't look at me," mumbled Tony, and Bruce elbowed him in the ribs. "What?" The billionaire mock-glowered at him. "Do I look like some kind of Abracadabra-guru to you?"

"You look like someone who's being very unhelpful," shot Natasha from the corner with a roll of her eyes.

"Did the Allfather do anything in particular when he took away Loki's magic that might also have to be done to put it back?" asked Steve, obviously trying his very hardest to be of assistance.

"I do not know..." said Thor, closing his eyes and trying to recall. "The Casket was not even present at the extraction, or at least not to my sight. The Allfather just touched Loki's fingertips lightly with his own. He did not say or do anything out of the ordinary..." He sighed sadly and cupped his hand to Loki's face. "We have come so far now and are so close, I could not bear to lose my brother now because of a misunderstanding of a simple technicality." He closed his eyes and sat for a long moment. Bruce gazed at him and felt his heart break right along with the thunderer's.

"Speaking of misunderstandings..." began Tony, and Bruce thought sarcastically about Hulking out just for the specific purpose of punching a giant green fist into his face. But Tony finished, "...I'm about to be having a serious misunderstanding about what's happening to Loki's hands. And his arms. And actually, his face too, now that I think about it."

Bruce turned immediately back to his patient and stifled a gasp. It was still Loki on the bed, there was no doubt about that. But his appearance was very, very different. For starters, his skin had turned a royal blue, and it was covered with ridges and lines that resembled a very extensive tattooing pattern. And when his eyes shot open-still with the same, unfocused gaze they had held during his brief period of non-lucid consciousness just before the seizure-Bruce saw with an unsettling horror that the irises were no longer emerald, but the color of blood.

"He's becoming one of them," whispered Natasha.

"No, he _is_ one of them," said Tony, understanding dawning on his face. "This is how he's supposed to look."

Thor stared in shock at his brother, beholding Loki's true form for the first time. Bruce couldn't definitively read his expression-he seemed to be feeling a mixture of surprise, admiration, and love. There was no disgust apparent anywhere, and Bruce had to hand it to the god of thunder-for someone who had lived an entire millennium hating a particular race, he was doing a fantastic job of accepting his brother's status as one of them.

But as Bruce thought this, Thor gasped and yanked his hand away from where it had still been resting on Loki's cheek. From where he stood, Bruce could see that the palm and fingers of the god of thunder's right hand were bright red. Thor winced as he tried experimentally to make a fist and only halfway accomplished it. Bruce began to move toward him, but Thor thrust out his uninjured hand in a gesture intended to stop the doctor in his tracks.

"Do not touch him. His skin will burn you."

Bruce nodded, understanding. Ignoring his frostbitten hand, Thor bent down where he sat to look into his brother's crimson eyes.

"Loki," he said softly, almost hesitantly, as though he were nervous that the creature before him might reach out in his delirium and grab him, burning his skin even further. "Can you hear me, brother?"

Loki did not answer, and his gaze continued to look lost and unfocused. Bruce seriously doubted he knew that his brother was even in the room with him-or that any of them were, for that matter. But suddenly, Loki shot upright into a sitting position, clenching the handles of the Casket in his fists. Bruce had not thought him strong enough to sit up under his own steam, let alone with such speed and ferocity. Loki's chest heaved with exertion, and Thor made to reach out to him before remembering himself and stopping, his hand just inches shy of Loki's blue arm. The Avengers could only watch as Loki's breath quickened even more, and his body began to vibrate, similar to the way it had during his bouts of chills. Bruce, fearing his patient was hyperventilating, hurried to the bedside and, being very careful not to touch Loki's skin, removed the ventilator's mask from his nose, knowing that adding more oxygen would only make the situation worse. He hissed softly at the coldness of the plastic on his fingers and nearly dropped the thing.

Shaking his hand rapidly to disperse the pain, Bruce watched as Loki continued to breathe too rapidly and too shallowly for a few more seconds before suddenly drawing one enormous, deep breath. And then another. And another. They were _good_ breaths, the kind that makes a doctor sigh in relief during a scare in surgery or after a patient has had an asthma attack. They definitely made _Bruce_ sigh in relief, anyway, especially after having listened to that strained rattle for hours on end.

After several more deep, strong breaths, Loki released his grip on the Casket. It slid forward onto the bed as he leaned back against his pillows, his eyes closed. By the time he had settled, the blue color had slid away to reveal the Loki they knew, though his ivory skin was no longer flushed with fever.

"Loki?" Thor's tone was hesitant, as were his motions as he reached out his uninjured hand to caress his brother's cheek with his fingertips. Although Loki did not respond, this time, Thor did not pull back in pain. Eyes bright, Thor turned to Bruce.

"His fever has broken, nor does he feel cold."

Bruce's eyebrows shot upward. "JARVIS, what is Loki's internal temperature?"

**Ninety-eight point five degrees Fahrenheit, sir.**

"Pristine," murmured Bruce.

"This is good, yes?" Thor's eyes were wide with a kind of desperation that suggested he wanted so badly to feel hope, but was too unsure of the possible outcomes of the situation to yet allow himself to do so. It made Bruce want so much to tell him that yes, it was very good and that it meant everything would be okay, but the reality of the situation was that he had no idea what had just happened. Plus, he knew that a doctor (not that he was actually that kind of doctor, but still) never made optimistic declarations unless they were one hundred percent positive of their validity. So, he decided to error on the side of caution while at the same time giving Thor at least the tiniest bit of hope to cling to.

"It's too early to say yet. We don't even know for sure if...whatever it was that just happened actually gave Loki his magic back. But...I wouldn't call it a bad thing."

A small smile of reassurance flitted briefly across Thor's face before he began to look worried again. "But he still does not respond," he said, running his left hand tenderly through Loki's hair, which stuck every which way from the dried sweat.

"He's probably completely exhausted, Thor," said Bruce, assuming the practical tone he used for explaining scientific things. He imagined Tony was quirking a grin behind him. "His body's been through a hell of a lot these past couple of weeks. There's a good chance he's just not ready to wake up yet. We've gotta give him time."

Thor nodded slowly. "Then time he shall have, with me by his side through it all. I very nearly ended this day in Valhalla, unable to see my brother again. I will not squander the opportunity to be close to him, now that I have it."

His words puzzled Bruce-Valhalla was the Norse version of Heaven, wasn't it? But he knew Tony would fill in the missing pieces of the story, such as why they were all dressed in furs, in due time.

"Fair enough, but only if you let me have a look at that hand. Deal?"

Thor nodded, allowing himself a smile, which Bruce sensed contained gratitude stemming from far more than an offer of tending to a frostbitten hand.

"Deal."

_~~~The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~_

While Banner saw to his patients, the others had retired to Stark's spacious and immensely comfortable lounge for drinks. Clint had deeply appreciated the warmth that the whiskey sent through his veins-he'd thought his bloodstream had frozen solid. He was thankful for the furs, although how he and Natasha had gotten them, they still weren't sure. They hadn't been wearing them when they'd left Stark Tower, but they had been when they'd gotten to-what had Stark called that ridiculously cold place with the blue people?-Jotunheim. It was as simple as that. Or, at least, that was the way Clint chose to look at it. There had been a little too much magic going on in his life lately, so he chose to forgo speculating about the details of the situation.

Stark and Rogers had gone up to bed, leaving Clint and Natasha sitting on one of the couches, wrapped in blankets. They'd each done their shots and had now switched to red wine. Clint sipped slowly and quietly from his glass as Natasha leaned against him, her back against his chest. She hadn't taken a drink in awhile and he thought maybe she'd fallen asleep until he heard her voice.

"How did you know?"

"Hmm?" He was tired and decidedly drunk. Therefore, she was going to have to be a little clearer than that.

"About the moat-the darkness. You knew the Frost Giants couldn't get the Casket back if Steve dropped it down there. Actually, how did you even think of that?" She sat up so she could look at him.

_Damn._ He'd really hoped this question wouldn't come up. The answer was a knowledge he had hoped he'd never have to call to mind again. It was a burden that had been thrust upon him against his will, and the fact that he had used it to help the one who had done said thrusting was almost laughably ironic.

She saw his hesitation, realized the question bothered him. He knew by the way the way she raised one red eyebrow in an expression of slightly apologetic concern. But she did not retract her inquiry. She just waited, giving him all the time he needed to respond.

"When Loki...had me..." He tried to think of how best to codify in exactly what way Loki had had him-had my consciousness? My will?-and then looked at Natasha and realized he didn't have to. "It was mostly him making me want to do stuff for him, yeah, but there was also just the tiniest bit of back flow, like he wasn't one hundred percent solid on his mind control skills or something." Clint paused to roll his eyes at the flippant way he was discussing the most horrible experience of his life, and then continued. "Occasionally, _I_ caught glimpses of _his_ mind, rather than the other way around. It wasn't so much that all of a sudden I could see what Loki thought. It was more like I would see or encounter something and I would have this weird feeling associated with it, a feeling that I knew didn't come from my own self. Like a reaction that hadn't been present in my consciousness prior to him being there. Does that make any sense at all?"

To his surprise, she nodded. "Maybe it's because we're both drunk."

He laughed ironically, and then lapsed into silence. That was by far the most he'd spoken about his experience-he hadn't even said that much to the psychologist who had done his eval. To his surprise, it didn't feel quite as horrible as he had thought it would. It wasn't until Natasha spoke again that he realized he hadn't thoroughly answered her question.

"But how could you have that feeling about the moat if you're not under Loki's control anymore?"

He blinked, steeling himself as he recalled what he could of being a pawn of the god of mischief's power. "I _remembered_ the feeling. It was associated with the blackness. When we were planning to open the portal, with Selvig talking about needing the iridium and all that, it was like I knew that the darkness, what made up the moat, also made up the portal." Now that he thought of it, he realized that that had been the strongest feeling he'd had while he was under. "There was this kind of foreboding, almost fear, associated it. And falling. That's why I thought of it-the Casket would have been falling if Steve had dropped it."

"Banner said Loki fell into darkness off of the rainbow bridge," said Natasha, softly. "Is that...?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Of course, I didn't know that then."

She nodded, and then settled back against him against him again. "I still don't like Loki, and I'm not sure I'm saying this despite that or because of it, but...you did a good thing, Clint. A really good thing."

He knew she couldn't see his genuine smile, and he was kind of glad of that-he didn't want her to think he was going soft. Yeah, he guessed he _had_ done a good thing. Loki definitely didn't deserve it, anyway-not after what he'd done to Clint, not to mention everyone who'd gotten hurt in the process. He'd definitely risked his life back there-not to mention it had been really freaking _cold_. But somehow, he felt better for having done it. _Forgive your enemies_, wasn't that what they said? Clint hadn't forgiven Loki, and he didn't know if he ever really would, but saving his life had to count for something in the Good Karma For Clint Barton book. If anyone was keeping count, that was. And he wasn't sure just how much Loki had improved as a person during the two weeks he'd been at Stark Tower, but at least now he had the chance to change his ways, if he was capable of that. And, on the off-chance he was, then maybe Clint was, too. And tiny though it was, that, for Clint, was enough of a thread of hope to hold onto, or at least long enough to get by until he could retake his eval and hopefully get officially back in the field.

But he hadn't been the only one who hated Loki and yet had risked their life to save him.

"What about you?" he asked Natasha, unwinding a strand of her red hair from where he had thoughtfully wrapped it around his index finger. "Helping Loki was my idea, but you went with me. Why?"

"Someone had to make sure you didn't get yourself killed or lost on some distant planet." He could hear the smirk in her voice, but there was something else there, as well. He couldn't quite put his finger on it-or maybe he didn't want to, because attaching a name to it was scary, especially for someone who had been betrayed by people who had said they _loved_ him.

"It wasn't just that," he said, almost before he realized the words were coming out of his mouth. "You said you had red in your ledger and you wanted to wipe it out. Back on the helicarrier, remember?" He felt her suddenly go rigid in his arms, and knew he had hit on something major. There weren't many ways to upset Natasha Romanoff, but he knew that bringing up her checkered past was one of them. He ran his hand gently along the length of her arm, to remind her that it was okay to talk about it with him.

"Yeah," she muttered after a pause. "Yeah, that might have had something to do with it."

"I guess we've both got red in our ledgers, even after today," Clint said. "Maybe we always will. I don't know-I guess we don't really get to decide that. But I think we maybe wiped out a little bit today, don't you?"

He wasn't sure who he thought needed to hear the answer to that question more-him or her. He did know it made his heart feel a little lighter when she turned to him with the smallest of smiles and responded,

"Yeah. I guess we did."

They smiled at each other for a few seconds. They weren't large smiles, for such was not their way. They were small, but they were real. They were smiles that conveyed a mutual understanding, as well as hope. Then, Clint leaned against the arm of the couch and allowed Natasha to settle back into his embrace, and then he pulled the blanket he was wearing around the both of them and, after kissing the top of her head, closed his eyes. He decided that this position sounded more inviting for sleep than any other he could think of at the moment. As he nodded off, he realized how much he appreciated the fact that Natasha had been by his side during the crazy escapade he had undertaken today. They were wiping out the red in their ledgers-gradually, perhaps, but they were doing it _together_. And somehow, if that togetherness continued, he thought, they might actually be able to accomplish something real.


	24. Chapter 24

**Wakey wakey, Loki! ;) So, I've always felt a little insecure about this chapter. What I wanted to happen in this chapter was for Loki to speak with and apologize to Clint and Natasha, as well as thank them for what they did on Jotunheim. I also wanted there to be this sort of subtle transition from the agents hating Loki to at least tolerating him, maybe even beginning to accept him. Because I wanted Loki to be genuine in his endeavor to change his ways, I wanted him to be very sincere and humble in his apology. I hope that everyone is in character this chapter, but either way, it happened how I wanted it to happen, so I'm okay with it. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Next chapter will be up Tuesday. :)**

Thor was not particularly sure at exactly which point in his life he had become a worrier. In his youth, he had ridden with his warriors into the fiercest of battles without so much as a thought for his own safety. But then again, whenever Loki had accompanied him into said battles, he _had_ feared for his brother's safety. So maybe he was just a worrier when it came to Loki. Maybe he always had been, but had never had cause to really dwell upon it until now.

Either way, he was certainly worried now, even though each news Dr. Banner gave was better and better. Loki's temperature had held normal and steady for three days after his exposure to the Casket. (The Jotuns had not attempted to retrieve their relic yet, so Thor supposed they were awaiting his move. He was not sure what this meant, but at least he had not needed to defend his incapacitated brother from the wrath of Helblindi and his warriors.) As reassured as Thor was with Loki's progress, the fact still remained that he was still unconscious. Banner assured Thor that it would only be a matter of time before his brother woke, and Thor was determined to be there when it happened. But every hour Loki slept, the more unsettled Thor became. What if Loki had just been too badly damaged for his body to heal itself? What if he just could not recover enough strength to wake?

Thor worried himself into an awful lack of sleep, and by the end of three days he was so exhausted that his mind felt slow and sluggish. That was why he _almost _missed the signs. The slight twitch of a finger. The fluttering of eyelids.

It was the soft sigh that caught his attention. He looked up to see his brother blinking owlishly, appearing rather confused, but not panicked. He quickly grabbed Loki's hand and pressed it.

"Brother! Loki, you are awake!" He made no attempt to hide the unabashed joy in his voice. Loki gazed at him a little uncertainly for a moment, but then his expression cleared and he smiled. It was a _real_ smile, not one of his evil, calculating smirks, nor was it forced in any way. It was genuine, something Thor had not seen in his brother in longer than he cared to consider. He felt his heart swell with a warmth and joy that spread to his very toes. His brother was awake. His Loki would live.

"Yes," Loki said softly, his voice hoarse from not having taken water in several days. "It would appear that I am." He looked at Thor, who was worrying Loki's knuckles with his giant thumb, and furrowed his eyebrows, the smile vanishing.

"Thor, are you...is it really you?"

The warmth that had grown inside Thor vanished, and his heart sank to his toes.

"Yes, of course it is!" He tried to make his voice sound light and cheerful. "Who else would it be?"

"A figment of my imagination, perhaps," said Loki, looking despondent in his apparent certainty that the person before him was not his brother, but an apparition of his own unwilling creation. "I understand I have been quite delirious as of late."

"But you are recovering, brother!" Thor tried to reassure him. "Your temperature has not strayed from normal for three days. Dr. Banner says that your condition is improving very nicely."

"But..." Loki blinked again. He seemed to be trying to collect his thoughts and reconcile the broken fragments of the past few days. "I...I woke, and I looked for you and called your name, but...you were not there." His eyes took on a look of fearful desperation, and his voice shook. "Thor, I called for you but I could not find you and I was so frightened and I felt so alone, I was all alone..."

"Oh, Loki," said Thor, finally understanding. He moved from the chair to sit on the bed and took his brother, who was trembling and shedding tears by this point, into his arms and held him close. "Dr. Banner said that you had woken up in delirium while the others and I were on Asgard. I had to go, you see. It was the only way to make you better-and you _are_ getting better, Loki. But I am so sorry I had to leave you. I tried to tell you what was going on, but you would not wake, and I knew that we did not have much time. So I left to go and get your magic back. It was the only way to save your life."

Loki stiffened suddenly and then pulled away from him. He sat, rigid, for several seconds, his eyes closed as though he were concentrating very heavily on something.

"Loki?" asked Thor softly after a time, worried that something was the matter.

"I...I can feel it," whispered Loki incredulously. "My magic. I did not even notice it at first. It is weak because I am weak. I cannot access it-I know I will not be able to consciously employ it for quite some time. Illness or injury or exhaustion weaken my powers or prevent me from using them. But it _is_ there, where there was only a hole before." He opened his eyes and gazed at Thor with wonder and happiness. "Thor, I have my magic back!"

Thor nodded. "That you do. But no trying to turn Stark's beard green until you're recovered." He chuckled at the mental image. But Loki seemed to miss the jest entirely.

"You...you went to Asgard and got it back for me?"

"To make a long story very short, yes."

"But...you cannot hardly trust me with it. Not after everything I've done." There was a bitter note to Loki's voice, and his eyes held a quantity of self-loathing that made Thor's heart clench within his chest.

"Brother," he murmured, tucking a lose strand of hair behind Loki's ear, "while there are people who do not believe you should yet be in possession of your powers, death being a consequence or not, I am not one of those people. Do you remember what you said to me once, while you were ill?"

Loki blinked. "I am sure I said much while I was ill, and I am afraid I do not remember every word."

"That is understandable-you were quite unwell. But you will just have to trust me to quote your words." And while Thor knew he was guilty of often misquoting people, this time he was positive he remembered his brother's words exactly right. He had made sure to commit them to memory because he had anticipated needing to recall them for this very purpose-to convince his brother of his faith in him. When Loki nodded, Thor spoke back to him the words he had spoken after waking from a nightmare.

"You said, '_A mind so contorted as mine was cannot realize the repercussions of their actions unless they experience them firsthand. And because I have been granted the ability to do so, I swear that I will never harm another soul in cold blood again.'_ And I believe you, Loki. You might be known for your mischief and lies, but that does not mean that you cannot tell the truth when it counts. And I have seen these past few days how you have recognized that the place your mind inhabited while you tried to subjugate Midgard was not a good one, and that you are truly sorry for what you did. You _have_ changed for the better, Loki."

"Thor..." whispered Loki. That was all the farther he got before his voice broke and he let out a little sob. Thor, not bothering to wipe away his own tears, drew his brother close once more. He was indescribably grateful for the opportunity to do so without either of their lives being in danger. Finally, they were together and all was well.

Or at least it was until Loki discovered his bandaged right hand, which he had managed to successfully keep out of his brother's sight until then.

"Thor!" Loki's brow knit itself together with worry when he finally disentangled himself from his brother's embrace and saw the appendage, which was covered in several layers of gauze and a tan medical wrap. "Brother, you are injured!"

"It is nothing," Thor reassured him. "Dr. Banner says it will be fine." Indeed, it was the truth. The doctor's diagnosis had been second-degree frostbite. Although his fingers and palm felt hard, Banner had stated that he was fairly positive there was no damage to the deep tissue, and that he should be recovered within a month's time. Thor had to admit he had been a bit concerned when, two days after the initial injury, black blisters had begun to break out on the burned areas, but Banner had reassured him that this was normal and that the injury was not as bad as it looked. He just needed to keep it bound and not use or jostle his hand too much so that the ice that had crystallized within it could not harm him further.

"What happened?" asked Loki, looking terribly concerned for his brother. Unnecessarily concerned, Thor thought, but then again, emotional sensitivity was to be expected given everything Loki had experienced lately.

"It is a story for another time, brother-dear," he soothed, running his good hand up and down Loki's arm. "It does not hurt much at all, and you are undoubtedly weary. Rest now, and I will tell of the Avengers' escapades later, when you are more recovered." But before he could stop him, Loki had grabbed his wrist with surprising speed and strength and was peering down the hole formed where the bandage was wrapped around the ends of his fingers. His eyes widened in horror when he saw the ugly, black blisters.

"Frostbite," he whispered. It wasn't a question. They had both seen the wounds Volstagg and Fandral had sustained during the battle Thor had led them into on Jotunheim. It had not been long ago at all-less than three months' time-but it felt like ages since Thor had felt that rash need for battle and deafness toward his brother's words.

"Thor." Loki's eyes were wide with a sickened anticipation. "I think you had better tell me everything. _Right now._"

Thor sighed in defeat. It appeared as though he would be unable to get out of this. There was no way Loki would rest until he knew the truth.

"Loki," he began, thinking it was probably best to preface his tale by reassuring his brother. "You know that your true heritage does not cause me to love you any less than I would if you had been born in Asgard, don't you? I care not what you look like, or who your blood relations are, or..."

"It was me." Loki looked as though he were going to vomit, and his breath shook as he inhaled. "I did this to you. I hurt you, I caused you pain..."

"Loki, you were delirious-you knew not what you were doing. And it was_ I _who was touching _you_-I should have realized what would happen when I placed the Casket in your hands. I suppose I was distracted by..."

"By what?" Loki scoffed, his voice strained. "By what a hideous monster I am?"

"No! Loki, your Jotun form is..." Thor struggled to think of a proper term. "...captivating. I marveled at how so very different you looked, and yet how much you were like the Loki I see every day. I'd never seen anything like it."

"You do not truly enjoy looking at me. An Asgardian could never think that way about a Frost Giant." Loki's tone was bitter, but he seemed to doubt his own words just the tiniest bit, and that was encouraging for Thor.

"I am going pretend that you did not say that simply because I know that you are having difficulty coming to terms with your heritage," said Thor patiently. Loki glared at him, but it was obvious that his heart was only half in it.

"I can see that you will not budge from your stance, my stubborn brother," he said instead, sounding tired but simultaneously affectionate. "And I am too weary to continue my side of the argument just now. But you have not detailed the rest of your escapades. Please, tell me."

So Thor helped Loki settle back against his pillows and told him the story-how Stark and Banner had finally deduced the cause of Loki's illness, the trip to Asgard and audience with Odin, what Banner had told him of Barton and Natasha Romanoff's appearance at the tower (at which Loki looked rather surprised and humbled), and the events in Jotunheim. He told the part of the story that involved him offering his own life in return for Loki's quickly and quietly, trying not to let the memories of just how close he had been to not being able to return to his brother take hold. The fear, the anticipation, the grief...they still seemed real and near, if not just a little bit less so as he sat in the warm room next to Loki, away from the danger.

"You...you did that?" Loki looked as though he could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"Do you doubt that I would readily give my life for yours, brother?" Thor's heart sank a little at Loki's tone, remembering the times when Loki would scoff at his proclamations of love for him and wondering if he had reverted back to his old doubts.

But that was not what Loki was thinking at all.

"Thor, how _could_ you?" He looked utterly betrayed and horrified, and his eyes brimmed with tears. Thor imagined his brother's face had held the same look when their father told him that he was an adopted Jotun. Confused rather than angry at Loki's reaction, he asked,

"What do you mean? Brother, I could not just let you die! I swore that I would do everything within my power to save you, and this was the very last option available to me." The tears were pouring down Loki's face by now, and Thor reached out to lay his good hand atop his brother's, all the while attempting to discern the source of this unexpected outburst.

"You would just leave me all alone? Thor, what would I do without you when the nightmares came? You would just die and leave me here to fend for myself?" He uttered a wrenching sob and allowed his brother to draw him close as he whispered, "I couldn't live without you."

_Oh._ Thor understood then. His offer had been more selfish than he had originally thought. Even though he was recovering his physical health, Loki was still barely holding himself together emotionally. To lose Thor, his rock, would undoubtedly have been more than he could take. Thor cursed himself for being so stupid. How could he have not seen?

"I am so sorry, brother," he whispered in Loki's ear. "As always, I acted before I stopped to think about the consequences. Can you forgive me?"

"_Forgive_ you?" Loki sounded positively astounded. "Brother, you would have died to save my life. What in all the realms am I supposed to be _forgiving_ you for? I do not deserve the love you have shown me."

"You do. Everyone deserves love. Someday you will see that." Thor kissed the side of his head affectionately.

"You _are_ an idiot," Loki sniffled, but the unspoken message in his tone made Thor smile.

_Through your faith in me, someday I just might._

_~~~The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~_

Loki recovered in the cliche manner-slowly but surely. Though his nightmares still plagued him, they did not come every night, and without the fever and chills taxing him he was able to recover his strength faster. He felt a bit better every day. However, his stomach still remained rather unsettled over the first few days-he could manage a few sips of water at a time, but beyond that he would begin to feel queasy. He didn't dare attempt any solid food until nearly two days after he first awoke. Of course, his lack of intake drove Thor halfway insane with worry, but Dr. Banner continued to give him fluids and nutrition through his catheter. It wasn't ideal, the doctor said, but at least he was getting _something_.

However, as Loki progressed in his recovery, he was able to move around more (though he was still confined to bed) and consequently found the catheter in the crook of his left arm to be increasingly uncomfortable. It made it nigh impossible to bend his arm, and the sticky tape pulled at the sensitive skin on the inside of his elbow.

"Dr. Banner," he asked the next time the doctor came to check on him. "I do not mean to complain nor rush you, but I am growing awfully weary of having this tube in my arm. When do you think you could remove it?" He made his eyes wide and pleading for extra effect, furrowing his brow just the tiniest bit. It was a technique that had drawn many an unsuspecting victim into one of his mischievous acts-part of being the Liesmith and the god of mischief was having the uncanny ability to wrap pretty much anyone around his little finger, not least of whom his elder brother. The innocent, pleading look never failed to melt Thor's heart, and had gotten Loki out of several fights and placings of blame.

Banner, however, was one of those rare people who was not phased by the expression. He merely chuckled and turned to Thor.

"You sure you two aren't actually related? Because I swear, you do exactly the same puppy-dog eyes. You guys _and_ Steve, actually. One big, begging family."

Thor, who was sitting next to the bed and eating a bowl of spaghetti, snorted. "I would like to see the Captain of America belay the blame from himself after almost causing an inter-realm incident with a few chosen words and a very convincing facial expression."

Loki quirked a half-smile in his brother's direction. Those had been the days.

Banner shook his head with a chuckle. "I feel like I'm going to have to get that story in full someday. But as for right now..." He paused to think, visually assessing his patient as he did so. Loki had purposefully not looked in a glass for quite some time, but he imagined his appearance probably did nothing to help his case. No doubt he was pale, thin, and bedraggled.

At long last, Banner continued. "How about we make a deal? When you can drink an entire glass of water and eat one whole piece of toast, and keep it down for at least half an hour, I'll pull the catheter. Deal?"

Loki raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "And what if I say no?"

Banner shrugged. "You pretty much don't get a choice in the matter. I'm your doctor, and what I say goes-you really need to stay hydrated and keep as many nutrients coming in as you can. So, water, toast, thirty minutes. Not one second sooner."

Loki sighed in defeat. "All right. I shall resign myself to waiting." He leaned back against his pillows and made a show of attempting and failing to fold his arms across his chest, his progress hampered by the presence of the catheter. Unfazed, Banner added,

"And don't try to cheat, because don't think for a minute your brother would allow it. Right, Thor?"

Thor smiled that winning smile of his through a mouthful of noodles. "I only want what is best for my brother's welfare, doctor."

Loki glared acerbically at him, but he was only halfway serious. As overprotective as Thor could be, he was glad that his brother cared so much about his health. Immediately after Loki had woken from his extended state of unconsciousness, Banner had looked him over and asked him questions to evaluate his mental state. He had been concerned that the febrile seizure might have caused lasting damage to his mind but had found none. The expression of relief and the pure emotion on Thor's face had made the emotionally vulnerable Loki want to start crying all over again. Thor had held him for hours after that, and Loki had slept in his arms and had never felt so incredibly _safe_ in all of his life. There had been no nightmares that day or night.

The nightmares. He doubted they would ever really go away, even with Thor constantly at his side. Though he had, as Thor had reiterated, had a change of heart (or a change of soul, perhaps?), he did agree that the true volume and horrendous nature of his crimes deserved a constant reiteration. He _should_ continue to be punished-although that did not mean he had to enjoy it. The previous night, his dream had involved Barton and Romanoff, and since he had awoken from it, he had been struggling with the matter of the two of them in his heart.

"Brother?" Thor asked softly when Banner had gone. "What is it that troubles you? If the catheter is truly very uncomfortable I shall inform the doctor..."

"No," said Loki, firmly but with affection. "It is not nearly so bad as I made it out to be. I was merely pushing my luck, as the mortals say." He sighed and reached out a hand to beckon his brother to him. Thor, having finished his lunch, placed his bowl on the bedside table and came to sit on the bed next to Loki, allowing him to lean into him and rest his head on his broad shoulder. Thor rubbed circles into his back for several seconds before trying again to discern an answer to his question.

"Tell me what is bothering you, Loki."

Loki sighed, feeling defeated for the second time that day. "I am afraid I have never been very good at apologies-I've always made a point of never making them because I could always get myself out of trouble."

"That is the definite truth," chuckled Thor.

"But I am afraid there are apologies that I must make-as well as thanks," said Loki, sitting up straighter so he could meet his brother's gaze. The laughter in Thor's eyes extinguished, leaving a mingling of pride, sympathy, and love in its place.

"You are learning fast, brother. While the task itself might not be particularly pleasant, I think you will find you will be more pleased with the results than you originally expected."

And so, not ten minutes later, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff were in Loki's bedroom. Thor sat on the bed next to his brother. The thunderer's large and supportive presence seemed to be the only stable thing to Loki at the moment. He could feel the assassins' eyes upon him-no doubt hating him, loathing him, wishing no end of pain upon him. And he deserved every ounce, every moment of that pain. He would _still_ deserve it, even after he had said what he meant to. But maybe he would feel the tiniest bit better? No, even that was too much to hope for.

He almost sent them away with that thought. But then he felt Thor beside him again, and remembered how pleased and proud he had been when Loki had announced he wished to apologize to and thank Barton and Romanoff. No, he had to go through with this, if only for Thor's sake.

But he was unsure of where to begin. How _does_ one apologize for taking over someone's mind or calling them demeaning names and threatening their loved ones? He needed to be honest, that much he knew, but honesty was not something he was at all accustomed to. And it mangled and twisted his silver tongue, making him stumble over his phrases.

"Agent Barton, Agent Romanoff..." he began. He found himself looking down at his blankets, unable to hold the gazes of the assassins out of shame. "I thank you for coming. I...I wish to..." Why was this _so_ difficult? He felt Thor's hand, hidden to the agents, touch his back lightly, urging him onward. He took a steadying breath. "I wish to apologize for everything I have done to harm you. There have been...events in my life recently which opened my eyes to exactly how terrible my actions were. Agent Barton..." He forced himself to look directly up at the archer. There was mockery in his eyes, oh yes, but there was also a small thread of curiosity, as if he were genuinely interested in where this was going. "I understand that Dr. Banner informed you of the punishment the Allfather required me to undergo, and of its lasting and recurring effects. Through my nightmares, I have come to know exactly what you went through during the time I...employed...you, as well as the time following. I felt your anger and your hurt at the actions I forced you into against your will, and I do not blame you for hating me."

"Stop right there." Barton held up an inhibitory hand, silencing Loki. "What you put me through, what you made me do, what I _felt_-you're telling me _you _felt it, too?" Loki nodded, hugging his knees to his chest as Barton snarled. "You son of a bitch! You just can't seem to keep yourself out of my head, can you?"

Thor growled and made to reach for Mjolnir, but Loki stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

"Thor, please," he implored softly, his eyes pleading. Thor huffed and nodded, but he kept a wary eye on Barton.

"Please allow me to explain, Agent Barton. During the nightmares elicited by the Allfather's punishment, I experienced the events and after-effects of my actions from the point of view of everyone who suffered because of me. I do not know to what extent the responses and feelings that I experienced during the dreams were yours or my own. And I was dealt the punishment very much against my will, I can assure you of that." He ignored Barton's snort. "But the point of all of this is for me to try to convince you just how terribly sorry I am. I know that no apology can begin to make things right between us or make up for what I did, but I am afraid I do not know how to go about making amends in any other way." He finished by dropping his eyes and examining his blankets again, unable to hold the archer's gaze any longer. His cheeks were burning, he could tell, and he cursed the honesty's effect on his body.

"How am I supposed to believe you're really sorry?" asked Barton after a very long pause, his voice quieter and less menacing than Loki had expected. "How am I supposed to believe you've changed? People don't just change like that."

"They do when they undergo an event that alters their perceptions on life. My brother's punishment was an event of such extremity." Thor's tone was severe, nearly threatening. Loki turned to face him again, exasperated and somewhat horrified.

"Thor, this is my apology to make. _I_ have wronged Agents Barton and Romanoff, not you. And do not forget what they did for us on Jotunheim," he entreated.

Thor quieted again, allowing Loki to speak. "I am afraid I have no way to prove to you that what I am saying is true. My brother is correct-truly experiencing the pain that I caused has made me regret my actions a thousand times over. But it is up to you whether or not you choose to believe my words."

Barton studied him for several seconds before turning to his partner.

"Any thoughts, Tasha?"

Now it was Romanoff's turn to look him over, one of her eyebrows slightly raised.

"I'm not sure yet," she said softly, contemplatively. Then, in an identical tone, she addressed Loki. "I believe you have an apology for me, as well?"

He was surprised at the lack of sarcasm and loathing in her voice. There was undeniably a touch of entitlement, but beyond that, nothing of note.

"Yes," he said quietly, and met her eyes. The action was far more difficult than it had been a few weeks ago, when a thick pane of glass had separated them. "I said some very demeaning and insulting things to you, and I purposefully misused knowledge I gained through non-legitimate means to attempt to manipulate you. I also threatened your life and the life of someone who is obviously important to you. You have my sincerest apologies. Like with Agent Barton, I do not expect you to believe me, let alone accept my apology. But it is there for the taking, if through some miracle you will have it." He sighed wearily. This apologizing was a very taxing business.

He found it easier to maintain her gaze than Barton's, perhaps because he did not consider his actions toward her to have been _quite_ as terrible as what he had done to the archer. Or perhaps it was because he considered her one of his kind. As much as he hated to admit it, she _had_ beaten him on the helicarrier. And that defeat had been far more humiliating than being locked in a cage, even if his capture had not been part of his plan. Either way, Loki and Romanoff found themselves in a thoughtful stare-down, with Romanoff thinking and Loki watching her, looking meek. Finally, the markswoman spoke.

"I think I believe him."

"Huh?" Barton's dirty-blonde eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"You're the god of lies and manipulation," Romanoff explained, addressing Loki. "When you were trying to manipulate me on the helicarrier, you were so suave and sure of yourself. Now you're stumbling over your words. If you wanted something from us, if you had an ulterior motive to this whole thing, I think you would be acting like you were back there. Your legendary silver tongue's just not serving you so well today, is it?" She smiled rather charmingly, and he afforded her a tiny half-grin in return.

"No. I suppose it isn't."

Their eyes met again, and suddenly Loki received the silent message she had been trying to send him all along. He knew of her past through Barton-the horrendous crimes she had committed, some of them severe enough to match his own. She knew what it was to experience a change of heart, to feel true regret, but then experience the disappointment of there being no one to believe how sorry she was. She _knew_, and Loki knew she knew, and somehow that felt more liberating than it would have if she had actually said she had accepted his apology. Because this was easier to believe.

Barton spoke up. "Well, if Agent Romanoff says she believes you, then I guess I do, too. But that doesn't mean you're forgiven, or even that I've accepted your apology."

Loki bowed his head a little. "I understand, Agent Barton. I thank you for affording me that much. It is more than I deserve."

Barton rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. Romanoff chuckled. Loki forced himself to ignore them, despite the fact that he was absolutely positive they were speaking about him. He found himself wishing he were strong enough to access his magic so that he could enhance his hearing.

"Which leads me to my next point," he transitioned. "I wanted to thank you for saving my brother's life, and by extension my own. Dr. Banner has told me that your original intention was to assist in saving _me_. You risked your lives by going to a realm you had never visited, and then by challenging and outwitting the king of Jotunheim. That was very impressive, and I must commend you. Especially you, Agent Barton-consider yourself lauded by the master manipulator."

Barton actually smiled at that, however ironically.

"But I must ask your help in understanding something. After what I did to you, you still risked everything to save me. Thor did it because he loves me. Neither of you, however, can hardly feel the same way. So I ask you, why? Why would you do something like that for _me_?" He was genuinely unsure of the answer to that question-he was still having difficulty grappling with Thor's reason for offering his life to save him. Had it not been for his newfound love for his brother, he wouldn't have been able to comprehend it at all. But as for Barton's and Romanoff's motives, he was entirely lost.

Romanoff smiled. "It's called 'being a good person'. You should try it some time. You might find out you like it." She sounded sarcastic, but not overwhelmingly so.

Barton shrugged. "Ditto." He and Romanoff then exchanged a glance that suggested to Loki that he might not have received the whole story, but he was not about to push the matter.

"I see," he said quietly. "I will have you know that I do plan to try to improve my skills when it comes to 'being a good person', as you say."

"You want us to give you humanity lessons?" asked Barton sarcastically as Romanoff elbowed him in the ribs, despite simultaneously smirking.

"Not too terribly often, if you please." Loki allowed himself that one small piece of snark. And that was when he saw Barton grin. It was so quick and fleeting that he might have imagined it. But it _had_ been there, he told himself. They were tiny, but steps were being made.

He thanked the agents once more for their actions and particularly for returning his brother to him. The minute the door had closed behind them, he let out an enormous breath and sank into his pillows, eyes shut.

"You did wonderfully, brother," rumbled Thor proudly, running a thumb over Loki's forehead.

"I've recently been life-threateningly ill, and I can _still_ say I've never felt more exhausted than I do just now," muttered Loki, but he smiled a little all the same at his brother's touch.

"Loki." Thor ceased his ministrations and spoke with a more serious tone, causing Loki to open his eyes and peer up at him. "I know that cost you a lot. Calling them in here and saying the things you did was very brave. You confessed to and took responsibility for your mistakes, and that is something I have rarely seen you do in the past. You are growing, brother. And for whatever it might be worth, I am very proud of you."

Well, since he was being truthful today anyway (could too much truth hurt a god of lies? He might find out), Loki smiled up at his brother and pressed his cheek to the large hand that Thor had rested on the pillow next to his head.

"It is worth so very much," he murmured. Judging by the way his blue eyes shown, Loki thought Thor might be crying a little. The damned sentimental oaf.

But so far, telling the truth actually felt good, if exhausting. He had better be careful-honesty was a terrible habit for the god of mischief to fall into.


	25. Chapter 25

Tony had known this day would come, although he had sort of hoped it would be later rather than sooner. Not that he wasn't thrilled to see Pepper again. But breaking the news to her was...nerve-wracking, to say the least. After all, it wasn't like he could _keep_ something like that from her. He had tried hiding things from Pepper before. Like when he would get so caught up in a project he would forget to sleep and eat for over forty-eight hours. Or like the time he'd gotten laryngitis so badly that he couldn't talk. He'd made a game out of pantomiming things in a grandiose manner which he had hoped she would just interpret as him being annoying, get fed up, and leave him alone. But she always found out, one way or another. And then she would make him eat and sleep, or, in the case of the laryngitis, go to the doctor. So he figured that there was absolutely no way he could keep the from her the fact that the war criminal who had thrown him out of his own window was now his house guest. Best to break it to her gently, but before she could discover him herself.

She was able to head home earlier than she had planned, which was nice, but it meant she had only given him three hours' notice. He'd barely had enough time to warn Thor and Loki (both of whom had looked somewhat concerned over this new development-by this time they'd both heard plenty of stories of the ferocity of the great Pepper Potts) and plan out exactly what he wanted to say.

_Stick to the script, Tony._ Yeah, because he'd always been so good at that. He'd never forget the day he'd stood up in front of an entire press conference and announced "I am Iron Man!". Although that had been pretty awesome, admittedly.

When she had walked through the door, the first thing she had done was kiss and then hug him for a rather extended period of time. He guessed that being gone for so long after his near-death experience hadn't been easy for her. And suddenly he felt grateful for all of the drama that had gone on in the tower over the past couple of weeks. It had distracted him during a time when he desperately _needed_ to be distracted. Loki had, in an odd way, been good for him. Now if only he could get Pepper to see that.

And then he had told her. None (well, not _much_) dancing around the point ("Hey, you know that guy who threw me out of the window? Yeah, well, he's kinda...here.")

So much for sticking to the script.

And then had begun the (relatively expected) tirade. Thankfully, there were no high heels thrown at his face, although there was plenty of screaming. It sort of went along the lines of, "Tony are you _nuts_ that guy's a _maniac_ what were you _thinking_ why is he even _here_ how is it that you're not already dead why isn't he on his home planet with the other aliens and have you completely lost your _mind_ are you trying to kill me I swear to God I can't leave you home alone for three hours let alone two and a half weeks why are you doing this to me?"

Eventually she had needed to stop to breathe, although Tony had honestly been doubting that moment would ever come. When it had, he had managed to guide her into a chair and given her the quick rundown of the situation before she could start screaming again. Basically, he had succeeded in getting out that Thor and Loki had shown up and Loki had gotten really sick, and that he had let them stay and Banner had taken care of Loki. Loki had almost died (he left out everything about the trips to Asgard and Jotunheim-he'd deal with that later), but was now getting better, and he and Thor didn't hate each other anymore, and they might have actually fixed a supervillain. Wasn't Pepper proud?

What Pepper _was_ was glaring at him. And damn it, were those angry tears? No, please not with the angry tears...he was _not_ getting laid tonight. This wasn't fair. Friggin' Loki.

She had stormed off into the elevator. Tony had dodged the closing doors with milliseconds to spare and ridden up with her (she had been directed by JARVIS-the traitor- to press the button for the seventy-ninth floor). She'd stalked into Loki's room, pepper spray in hand, ready to let loose all hell on the person who had nearly killed her boyfriend. But then she'd seen Loki. It had only been two days since he had woken up from his coma, and he still looked pretty awful, Tony had to say. His skin lacked any color whatsoever, his hair still stuck every which way, his exhaustion meant his default position was slumped wearily against his pillows, and the IV catheter was still taped to his arm. Not to mention the room was strewn with medical implements-the IV pole, bags, and drips, as well as the ventilator, which had not yet made its way back to the medical lab. And Loki looked _tiny_ in that huge king-sized bed, hidden beneath his blankets. Pepper had stopped in her tracks, dropped her aptly-named spray, and whirled around to yell at Tony.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me how pathetic he is?"

Both Loki and Thor, who of course was sitting beside his brother, had looked confused and mildly offended at this. After Tony had shrugged and given her a look that said "I tried"-he didn't dare say it aloud-Pepper had turned back to the brothers with her sweetest of nice-to-meet-you smiles.

She'd greeted Thor first, and he had kissed her hand and told her how pretty she was. Tony had flicked him off in the background, but the gesture flew so far over Thor's head that Tony figured he probably didn't even know he was being insulted. It figured. Then Pepper had turned to Loki, bending down so that she was at eye level with him.

"You must be Loki," she had said in that gentle voice of hers. Loki, looking decidedly frightened, had pressed close to Thor in an attempt to draw away from her, the memory of her brandishing the pepper spray obviously still fresh in his mind. But Pepper had introduced herself and said how terribly sorry she was for barging into his room like that and asked if he could possibly forgive her awful rudeness. He had nodded, but it looked to Tony as though it was more out of self-preservation than actual forgiveness. Then Pepper had tried to get him to come out of his shell a little bit-or at the very least, stop looking like he was afraid she was going to eat him. She told him she admired how close he seemed to be with his brother, and how nice it was that Thor was taking care of him. Loki had nodded his agreement, and Tony had seen the tenseness in his muscles relax just the slightest bit. Next, Pepper had said how sorry she was that he wasn't feeling well, and asked if there was anything she could do to help him feel better. When Loki's eyes had flicked uncertainly to his brother for guidance, Pepper had added that she was a wonderful cook. Tony had nodded enthusiastically from behind her.

"He has not been feeling up to eating much recently," Thor had explained kindly, which made Pepper look sad.

"What about when you're feeling a little better? I can do macaroni and cheese casserole, or chicken cordon bleu, or apple crumble." Loki's face had lit up at the last dish, telling Pepper that she had hit a winner. "You like apples?" He had nodded rather enthusiastically. "Good. I won't make it too sweet. You'll love it."

She'd gotten up to leave then, but before she could, Thor had nudged Loki's arm meaningfully, and Loki had suddenly said, "Thank you," the first two words he had actually spoken since Pepper had walked in the room. Pepper had looked incredibly pleased that he had finally spoken to her, and said he was very welcome and that she hoped he felt better very soon.

Tony caught up with her in the hallway, grinning from ear to ear.

"Pepper Potts," he had said. "The only woman in the world who walks into a guy's bedroom with the intention of pepper-spraying him and walks out having promised to make him apple crumble. Which I had better get some of, by the way." She had shoved him into the wall then.

Now it was nighttime, and they were in bed together, with her nestled in his arms.

"I can't believe that guy threw you out of a window," she said for what had to be the twentieth time.

"I'm telling you, he's not always that meek and mild. You shoulda seen him when he had the glowstick of destiny. He was pretty badass."

"Tony, I'm having trouble believing he'd hurt so much as an ant, let alone kill all those people!"

"Well, those were different days for him. Or at least, that's how it's seeming. Bruce and I are optimistic."

Pepper nodded slightly against the pillow. "And he's he going to be okay? I mean, he looked pretty bad today."

"Again, we're optimistic."

"Good." A pause. "I'm sorry for screaming at you."

"It's okay. I kinda expected it."

"You _expected _me to freak out?"

"Well, not really...yeah." She rolled over to glare at him. "Hey, you gotta face it. Sometimes you overreact."

"Overreact? Tony, the guy threw you out of a window!"

"You just said you didn't believe that!"

"Tony, you know what I mean." The glare got more intense, so he sighed and gave in. Instead of providing a comeback, he simply pressed his lips to hers briefly and then rested his forehead against her chest. He knew what he had to do, but just the idea of it made his stomach feel like it was eating itself from the inside out.

"Pep." He forced himself to say her name, hoping that by piquing her curiosity, he would force himself forward.

"Mmm?" She had closed her eyes, seeming to have forgotten their little squabble-it wasn't like they didn't have one hundred plus on any given day.

"You know...you know how I texted you a few days ago and said we needed to talk?"

She opened her eyes. "I assumed you meant about Loki."

"Not...really, no." Damn it, what was he _doing_?

"Oh, okay. What about, then?" He must have hesitated a little too long because her forehead creased in worry, and when she spoke again, her tone was more urgent. "Tony, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," he muttered, rolling over. This was a bad idea. Why should he burden her with his problems? He'd already put her through enough, especially with this most recent near-death experience. Not to mention what she dealt with every single day-his company, the problems associated with his fame, _him_. She deserved _not_ to have to worry about something.

"Tony." He felt her hand caress his shoulder and run its way down his arm. He shut his eyes and tried not to listen to her words, only the sound of her voice. He tried to pretend that he didn't have a problem, that everything was perfect between them and always would be.

God, he was such an idiot.

"You can't just say something like that and then drop it and think I'm just going to let it go."

He stayed silent, still blocking out the words, just listening to that beautiful voice.

"Tony, _look_ at me."

_Look at me. Talk to me. Start building the bonds instead of breaking them. Trust me, and let me trust you._

He rolled over and met her eyes.

"There's something I've been trying to tell you for a long time. I didn't before because...I don't know, I thought maybe that if I let you go on not knowing, you were more likely to stay that place of refuge for me. So perfect and untainted by this...awful thing that's inside my head. But then Loki came along and decided he was going to get sick to the brink of death in my tower. He honestly thought he was dying and his only comfort, all he had to hold onto, was Thor. He's the most important person in Loki's life, and Loki said that having Thor there made it bearable. That was when I texted you. Because I realized...in that way, you are for me what Thor is for Loki. And I saw that the only way I can be the person I need to be for you is for me to just let go and open up."

"Tony..." He wouldn't have known she had whispered his name if he hadn't saw her lips form the syllables. He could see in her eyes that she was already hurting for him, without even knowing specifically what he was going through. For a moment, he cursed himself for that. But then he looked again and saw that she _wanted_ to help him. She wanted to listen. He was trying to be the man she needed, and she was trying to be there for him. It was a two-way street, he realized. He took a shaky breath.

"Ever since Afghanistan, I've had nightmares. It's like I'm reliving everything I went through. And I think, wasn't once enough? But apparently not. Apparently I'm gonna do it over and over, forever and ever. And when I wake up, the only thing that calms me down is thinking about you. And somehow, I got this crazy thought that if I told you about it, it would make it better because someone else would know, but I don't know..."

"It's not crazy," she whispered, pressing her forehead against his. "It's not crazy at all. Tony, you don't have to go through this alone."

"But you shouldn't have to deal with this. God knows I put enough stuff on you with the company and the press and..."

"But this is so much more important than all of that. None of that matters to me if I can't help the important people in my life when they need me."

"Important _people_? Why, aren't I all you need?" He forced a chuckle, trying desperately to infuse some of his characteristic lightness into the situation.

"I was going to say _'especially_ you'," she said, smiling softly. "Tony, I love you. And I want to help."

There it was. She wasn't lying-Pepper never lied. She was okay with this-with him unloading his problems onto her.

"I don't know if _help_ is the right word," he said quietly.

"Then I'll listen. I'm good at that. Or at least a lot better than you." She shot him a grin and he managed one in return. Their smiles both ended when he pressed his lips to hers. When they broke apart, she curled up next to his chest, ignoring the hardness of the arc reactor. He nestled his face in her shoulder and kissed her bare skin where the large T-shirt she wore to bed had slipped down. She twitched a little at the scratch of his beard, though the response was not one of discomfort. And then they just lay there, relishing one another's company, each a million times happier lying next to the other than they could ever be alone.

"I know telling me was hard," said Pepper after awhile. "You don't open up to people easily. I'm really glad you did, and that it was me you decided to tell."

Tony remembered Bruce's attempt to get him to talk about the less-than-pleasant events of his past and how quickly he had walled himself off to the kindly doctor. He had never talked to anyone (about things that _mattered_, anyway) as easily as he had talked to Bruce. Until now.

"You're the only one I could tell." And that was the undisputed truth.

_This is what love is. Trusting someone with your deepest and darkest secrets and having them genuinely care about what you're saying. About you._

The thought came from somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind and hit him with such force that it hurt-a burning but brilliant kind of pain. Could it be that the protective shell of the arc reactor had been drawing not only the shrapnel away from his heart, but this realization as well? Love wasn't just their playful banter or their cuddles or even her making sure he ate and slept and taking care of him when he was sick. It was _this_-this painful telling and listening, this ripping out one's heart and presenting it to the other person, this hurting only because someone else hurt. Damn, it was messy. But he'd never felt better.

They fell asleep soon after that. The last thing Tony thought before he drifted off was that he felt safer and more secure that night than he had in a very long time. And he would wake up the next morning next to Pepper and feeling well-rested, not remembering having dreamed for a single instant.

_~~~The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me~~~_

**Dr. Banner.** JARVIS's monotonic voice jolted Bruce's attention away from the novel he was reading. **Loki has requested your presence in his room immediately.**

Bruce's eyebrows shot up. "Immediately?"

**That was the word he used, sir.**

Feeling suddenly worried, Bruce hurriedly got to this feet and headed for the elevator. It had been four days since Loki had awoken. Bruce had been monitoring his patient's temperature carefully, checking it every four hours and asking Loki how he felt. There had been no temperature fluctuations, but Loki still seemed rather weak, tiring easily and making no attempts to disobey Bruce's orders that he should remain bedridden. Bruce wanted to get him at least eating a bit better before he let him get up and walk around the tower. Loki complained rather half-heartedly about being confined to bed, but he seemed to lack the strength to try any physical activity. Bruce supposed it was probably from the lack of sustenance. Intravenous nutrition, while better than nothing at all, was no substitute for real food. Loki would pick here and there at the food Thor regularly brought him-a couple of bites of toast or oatmeal or applesauce, but the amount he was eating was nothing close to what it should be. Bruce hoped that Loki's sensitive stomach was building up a tolerance to food after having been deprived of it for so long. But he worried quietly, and Thor far more openly. It was obvious just how hard Loki was trying for his brother's sake. The previous day, Bruce had seen him make it halfway through a piece of toast before putting it down and looking utterly crestfallen that he could not physically bring himself to finish it. Thor had rubbed his back and told him he was doing well, but Bruce had seen in the thunder god's eyes just how unsettled he was over his brother's state. But Loki _had_ been getting better, albeit slowly. Bruce hoped that something had not happened to hamper-or worse, reverse-his recovery.

But when he got to Loki's room, he found the god of mischief sitting up in bed and actually looking excited. Thor was smiling too, a wide, beaming, ecstatic smile.

"Dr. Banner!" exclaimed Loki, his green eyes alight, as Bruce walked through the door. "I have eaten one whole piece of toast and drank one entire glass of water." He gestured at an empty glass and plate which sat on his nightstand. "And it has been exactly thirty-one minutes and twenty-six seconds, according to the bodiless voice, since I finished my breakfast. I do believe you must now uphold your end of the bargain."

Bruce let out a sigh of relief. Not regression, then. Progress.

He looked at Thor. "Can you vouch for him?"

"My brother speaks the truth, for once in his life," said Thor, grinning over at Loki, who seemed too pleased to even acknowledge the joking insult. Bruce turned back to his patient.

"You're feeling okay? No nausea or stomach pains?"

"Not even a touch of queasiness. I hope you will pardon my impatience, but I am terribly tired of having this confounded device in my arm." He turned his pleading expression on Bruce again.

"I don't blame you. Hang on for just a couple more minutes while I run upstairs and get what I need."

Bruce took the elevator up to the medical lab and grabbed his bag. When he returned, he instructed Loki to lean back against the pillows with the catheter facing upward. The god hissed with pain as Bruce pulled the tape off his the sensitive skin under his elbow.

"That was the worst part. I promise," Bruce reassured him. Loki just huffed and glared at him.

Bruce swabbed around the catheter and then, pressing down on Loki's arm with a gauze pad, slowly pulled the tube out and placed it atop some more gauze on the bedside table. He instructed Loki to continue applying pressure to his arm until the bleeding stopped, and his patient obeyed readily.

"How does it feel?" asked Bruce about three minutes later, after the bleeding had stopped and he had applied a Band-Aid to the puncture site.

"It does not hurt, if that is what you mean," said Loki, inspecting the sticky bandage, another foreign object to him, thoughtfully. "And it feels wonderful to have it gone. It was terribly irritating."

"You know you have to keep eating and drinking now, or that thing's going right back in," Bruce threatened, lightheartedly but firmly.

"That is a fair bargain, I suppose," said Loki. "Do not worry, I have absolutely no intention of having one of those stuck in my arm again." That comment was mostly for Thor's benefit. The older god smiled at his brother.

"I am pleased beyond measure to hear you say that, brother," he rumbled, patting Loki's hand affectionately. "It _is_ good to see you on your way to recovery."

"It is a pity, really," sighed Loki, causing Thor to take on a confused expression. "I did so much enjoy you waiting on me hand and foot every second. One could grow accustomed to such treatment."

"One already is when they are a prince," chuckled Thor.

"But how shall I ever settle for servants now that I am used to having _you_ care for me?" asked Loki. His tone was teasing, but his eyes shone with a warmth that seemed to take Thor aback for a moment before the thunderer ran his fingers affectionately through his brother's hair.

"We shall just have to come to a compromise," he said, although Bruce figured that would be less of a compromise and more of Thor continuing to cater to Loki's every whim for as long as his brother persisted in his newfound loyalty.

Not wanting to intrude on their brotherly bonding time, Bruce picked up his medical implements and inched his way quietly toward the door.

"Dr. Banner!" He heard Loki's voice call out just as he was about to exit the room. He turned to face his patient-though he would not be his patient for much longer, he suspected.

"Yeah."

"I wish to thank you." Loki's eyes were full of a sincerity that surprised Bruce a little.

"It's no problem. It's a lot easier to pull the catheter than it is to insert it."

Loki shook his head. "No, I mean, I wish to thank you for everything. For your kindness and patience and sacrifices. I would not have had the opportunity to change paths without you. I owe you more than I could ever hope to repay."

Bruce, a little startled, felt warmth growing in his cheeks. "I...um...it's no big deal. It's just kinda...what I do, I guess. Think of it as a way of saying 'I'm sorry for breaking all your ribs'."

They both chuckled, leaving Thor looking a bit surprised. Bruce supposed maybe Loki hadn't told him the extent of the damage the Hulk had caused his body. But he didn't call for Mjolnir, so Bruce figured he was probably okay with the situation as it stood.

He left Loki's room feeling cheerful and returned to continue reading his book. When he arrived, he found Tony sprawled across one of the couches, taking up the entire piece of furniture, tablet and stylus in hand. He grinned at Bruce from his upside-down position.

"Hey."

"Hey. Where's Pepper?" Since Pepper's return, Tony had been spending most of his time with her. He claimed to be helping her catch up on the company business that had happened while she was off on even more business, but Bruce suspected he was mainly getting in her way and she was politely and lovingly putting up with it.

"She had a morning full of meetings and an afternoon full of paperwork. But I'm taking her out to dinner tonight though. It's a surprise, so shhh, don't tell." He held his index finger up to his lips. "It's some new healthy organic-y place she's been wanting to try. I have reservations for the rooftop. There will be candles. It'll be romantic." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Healthy and organic? Wow, you sacrifice so much for Pepper." Bruce rolled his eyes.

"Totally. Why haven't they made me a saint yet?"

"The world just doesn't give you enough love, Tony."

"You _so_ get me. Anyway, what've you been up to?" Tony peered inquiringly at him from over the top (or bottom, because of his inverted position on the couch) of his tablet.

"Pulling Loki's catheter. I think he's starting to feel better, so he's eating better too."

"That's great. Really." Tony said earnestly as he sat up and crossed his legs beneath him on the cushion. Bruce marveled that he didn't pass out from the blood suddenly rushing away from his brain.

"Thor definitely agrees with you," Bruce chuckled. Tony patted the now-vacant spot on the couch next to him, and Bruce came to sit beside him.

"Well, you did it," Tony said, and Bruce looked over at him to realize that he wasn't joking. He felt his cheeks turning red for the second time that morning.

"It was you who realized what the problem was, in the end."

"Nah. I had a couple of little ideas. You figured out more than I did. And it's way more than just that. You took care of him."

"_Thor_ took care of him."

"But if he had had to rely on Thor alone, he'd be dead. No insult to Thor-it's just that you did every doctor-y thing you could think of to help Loki. And when stuff didn't work, you tried more stuff. And not just the diagnostics-you were constantly checking on him and doing everything you could to make him comfortable. You _cared_ about him during a time when he really needed it-and when he'd given you a thousand reasons not to care. So I don't really think I can take much of the credit for this. This was all you, buddy."

Bruce looked away and chuckled dryly. "I doctored up a supervillain. I must be crazy."

"No." Tony's tone was serious, and Bruce met his eyes again. Their chocolate-colored depths held nothing but seriousness. "You must be a really good person. Not just a great guy. A really _good_ person."

Bruce swallowed. "Thanks," was all he could get out before he looked away, but he could tell from the friendly way Tony patted his arm that he understood how much that meant.

He had a lot to thank Tony for, actually. For inviting him to stay at the tower, to begin with-he'd grown so much in his short time there that he could hardly believe it. In less than a month, he'd made a better friend than he'd had in years, built up his self-confidence by leaps and bounds, and taken the first few steps down the path of being at peace with the monster inside him. Well, maybe _peace_ wasn't the right word..._equilibrium_. A balance. A give-and-take. And he was okay with that.

Now that Loki was on his way to recovery and Bruce had been at the tower for a good long while, he wasn't exactly sure which direction his life was going to take. Would he return to Calcutta or some other remote place and continue to hide? Or would he stay here with his new friend, which was a riskier existence but promised to allow him to help people on a larger scale? Bruce was becoming more and more aware of just how important it was to him to be able to help people. And not just because he considered it a form of atonement for all of the damage done by the Hulk (he called him by name now in his mind, rather than the "Other Guy"). Helping others wasn't just an obligation for Bruce. He had an innate _need _to do so. The question was, just how did he want to go about accomplishing that help? And, perhaps more importantly, with whom?

Tony rose suddenly, using his hands to push himself off of the couch with a grunt. He'd obviously been laying upside-down for too long. He went over to the bar and retrieved two glasses and a bottle of fine whiskey. He poured two generous portions, keeping one for himself and handing the other to Bruce.

"I propose a toast," he said with a wide grin.

"To what, exactly?" For once in his life, Bruce realized, there were actually things worth toasting. It was a good feeling.

"Hmm...we could toast several things individually, or we could sum it up in one and then just drink everything."

"You like the latter option."

"I do like the latter option. Let me think...Oooh, I've got it. It's literally the most cliche toast you can possibly think of."

"Let's hear it."

Tony's smile widened ever farther as he raised his glass. "To new beginnings."

Bruce laughed softly, but it was a laugh devoid of irony and bitterness, because for once he had nothing to be ironic or bitter about. He clinked his glass against Tony's. "To new beginnings."

As they drank, it suddenly seemed to Bruce that staying in New York was the easiest decision in the world.


	26. Chapter 26

**This is the penultimate chapter. On Tuesday, I will post both the final chapter and the epilogue. Thanks everyone for your continued reading and reviewing!**

Loki continued to steadily recover over the next three weeks. His strength returned along with his appetite, and soon he was able to walk around the tower with Thor's assistance. He did, however, find himself leaning less and less upon his brother each day, and able to remain on his feet for longer.

Pepper had made him her apple crumble, and he had declared it (quite truthfully) one of the most delicious things he had ever tasted. Pepper had beamed in delight. Despite the less than friendly manner of their first meeting, Loki found that he liked the strawberry blonde. She was cheerful and optimistic, but not overly perky, and she never hesitated to reprimand Stark when the action was needed. And she was very kind to Loki, greeting him with a smile each time she saw him and asking how he was feeling. She understood his worries about food-she said that strawberries made her sick, so she knew what it was like to have to be very careful about what she ate. She also understood what it was like to have someone drive them to the absolute brink of insanity and yet dearly love them. And she _cared_ so much about everyone. In all, Pepper Potts reminded Loki very much of his mother, and he hoped that they could continue to be friends for a long time to come.

Thor still stayed nearly constantly at Loki's side, doting on him and catering to his every need. It was nice, Loki had to admit, but really what he enjoyed most about it all was the simple presence of his brother's company. He was perfectly content just to lie in Thor's embrace until he fell asleep.

Often, while Loki rested, Thor conversed with the other Avengers concerning plans to rebuild the city. With six people working together-with occasional input from Pepper-instead of just three, the planning process proceeded much quicker and they were soon ready to get to work.

One evening, as Thor was climbing into bed next to him for the night's sleep (Thor had continued to stay with Loki during the nights to comfort him when he had nightmares), Loki rolled over to look at his brother and said,

"Thor, I miss Mother."

The statement had stopped Thor rather abruptly in his tracks. He did not seem wholly surprised by the comment-he had undoubtedly suspected that since Loki's change of heart, he would be missing their dear, kind mother and wish to apologize for what he had put her through and show her just how far he had come. However, Loki doubted that he had really been expecting it.

"Do you wish to go home and see her?"

"Can it be arranged?"

"I do not see why not. Heimdall brought Stark and Rogers and myself to Asgard, and then transported us, along with Barton and Natasha Romanoff, to Jotunheim."

"But the Allfather said I was to help the Avengers rebuild their city. I have not exactly done that."

"There were unforeseen circumstances. He and Mother were terribly concerned for your welfare when I visited. I think it would do them both good to see that you are recovering, both in body and in mind. And I think he would like to see you."

Loki was quiet for a long moment, thinking that that might be just a tad optimistic. After several seconds, he asked,

"And what of Heimdall? You said that he is no longer to be trusted. That he broke his oath by lying to the queen and withholding information from the king."

Thor nodded, slowly and gravely. "That is true. In all honesty, I am not sure what, if any, problems the seer will pose. Mostly, I doubt that he will stand in our way. I am certain that Father is having him watched day and night. And Heimdall is very wise-I do not believe that he will deem it prudent to anger his king any further."

Loki nodded slowly, but he was still unsure. The last encounter between himself and the gatekeeper had not exactly been pleasant. It had ended with Loki using the Casket of Ancient Winters to turn Heimdall into a seer-shaped icicle. Loki suspected the guardian was not too happy with him after that incident.

"Would you like to leave as soon as possible?" Thor asked, interrupting his recollections. "I should think you are well enough to make the journey by now-you have been walking about the tower quite often these past few days."

"And what of my promise to help rebuild Midgard?" Loki reiterated. Whether or not what Thor said about the Allfather being willing to overlook Loki's failure to obey his command due to the unforeseen circumstances of his illness was true, Loki still wished to assist with the repairs in any way he could. He meant to show the people of Midgard that he was sorry for his actions, and he hoped to make them see that he was no longer a threat to them.

"My thoughts were that we could remain on Asgard until you are fully recovered, and then return here to assist the Avengers in their project. One thing I have learned in my recent travels is that time passes differently on Asgard than it does here on Midgard. I should think that by the time you are well, little more than a week should have gone by here."

Loki agreed to this plan enthusiastically. Until he was physically well and had regained the full use of his magic, he was fairly useless as far as repairs went. This would allow him the opportunity to make the amends he needed to on _both_ realms.

And so, the next morning, Loki and Thor stood on the roof of the tower, surrounded by their new friends and comrades. It felt very odd to Loki, to be wearing his Asgardian regalia again. He pulled his dark gray cloak, which he wore over his armor and emerald cape, more tightly around him to fend off the wind. The days had gotten chillier as the seasons changed, and although New York was still not particularly cold by its own standards, Loki was finding that he was still a bit sensitive to environmental temperatures. He glanced meaningfully at Thor, silently urging him to hurry along.

They bid a quick farewell to their friends. Rogers shook both of their hands, a gesture which Loki had come to learn was one of goodwill.

"You will be here when we return, Captain Rogers?" asked Thor. "I know you had expressed a desire to travel and see the rest of your realm."

Rogers glanced briefly over his should at the tower, and then looked around at the group of people on the rooftop.

"I think I'll hang around for awhile. I'll see you guys when you get back."

Thor's face broke into a wide grin. Loki gave the captain a softer smile. They had had a few conversations over the past couple of weeks. Loki had been quiet and reserved at first, not entirely sure of how Rogers would react to him, or how much resentment he still harbored after the battle. But Captain America had proved a very forgiving soul, and he had turned into a decent conversation partner. He was not immature, like Stark tended to be, or overly technical like Banner, and he definitely had more wits about him than Thor did. He had told Loki what Midgard had been like before he had been trapped in the ice, and in return Loki told him tales of Asgard. Since seeing the great realm with his own eyes, Rogers was increasingly eager for all of the information he could possibly get about it.

Pepper then proceeded to embrace Loki warmly, which caused his cheeks to turn a shade of pink that was no doubt exacerbated by his pale complexion. He caught a whiff of cinnamon and felt something being pushed into his hands. He looked down to see a plastic container filled with what he did not doubt was apple crumble.

"For the road," said Pepper whispered in his ear. Loki smiled his thanks.

When they had completed their goodbyes, the two brothers stood side by side on the rooftop. Thor called Heimdall's name, shouting to the skies, asking the gatekeeper to inform the Allfather of their wish to depart homeward. After several seconds, Loki felt himself being pulled forward, into the space between the realms. But this time, he did not feel as though he was spinning-the sensation was much less uncomfortable and more familiar. _They've fixed the Bifrost,_ he thought. When he opened his eyes, he was inside the reconstructed helm house.

Heimdall removed his great sword from its location of power and sheathed it, his eyes never leaving Loki. As always, the guardian's emotions and intentions were completely unreadable. Loki swallowed, moving instinctively closer to his brother, who stood as always beside him.

Thor did not even acknowledge the gatekeeper's presence. Instead, he touched Loki's arm gently and bid him,

"Come, brother. Let us return home."

Loki bid one final look at Heimdall, trying his best not to let how uncomfortable he felt show on his face, before turning away to follow Thor down the newly reconstructed rainbow bridge. The structure had been returned to all of its former glory since Loki had last been on Asgard. As he gazed upon its beauty, seeing the colorful lights intensify wherever he placed his feet, he tried to push away all thoughts of that horrible night, only a matter of months ago. He had been so blindingly angry at Thor that it was all he could think about-his anger and his obsessive need to make his father proud. And then the disappointment and feeling of being an utter failure. And then...blackness.

Loki shuddered involuntarily. Thor, who was walking with his hand resting on Loki's back to support his not quite steady frame, felt it and turned worriedly toward him.

"Are you well, brother?"

Loki blinked away from the darkness and met Thor's eyes. So much had happened since that night. He had changed so much, and now his relationship with Thor was something completely different. He was not angry anymore, and his possession of his brother's love far outweighed his need for his father's approval.

"Yes," he said softly. "Yes, I am quite well."

"That is good," said Thor. But all the same, Loki felt him draw him just a little bit closer. He did not protest.

By the time they completed the long walk down the Bifrost toward the palace, Loki felt exhausted. He had not had so much physical activity in some time, and he was still quite a distance from his full strength. He was about to ask Thor if they could go to his chambers and rest for a bit when he saw the enormous doors of the palace fly open and the queen, in a display of very un-queenlike behavior, come running down the steps, past the guards, and through the courtyard to where the brothers stood. She came to a halt in front of Loki, placing her palms on either side of his face, tears glistening on her cheeks.

"My Loki," she said in a choked whisper, wrapping him in a tight embrace and gripping the cloth at the back of his neck so hard that Loki could imagine her knuckles turning white. "Oh, my darling son. My little one. You're _home_."

There was such gratitude and relief and joy in her voice and her touch that when Loki returned her embrace, he found that he left the shoulder of her dress a bit wet. She had not given up on him, despite the length of time he had been gone and how desperate his situation had seemed. And it had been _him_ she had run to. Not Thor, not the golden child and crown prince. _Him_, the adopted, estranged son with a murderous past. Just as Thor was truly Loki's brother, blood relation or not, Frigga was without question his mother. And he made a promise to himself right then and there that he would never hurt her again.

Mother and son held each other in silence for at least half of a minute before Frigga released Loki and embraced Thor, who had been waiting quietly and patiently off to the side.

"You brought him back," Loki heard her whisper gratefully. Thor did not answer, but Loki saw him smile softly. When Frigga had finished with her elder son, she turned back to Loki, placing her hands firmly on his upper arms and examining him thoroughly.

"My poor boy, just look at you. You really have been very ill, haven't you?"

"He is looking considerably better, I think," Thor interjected, sounding a bit puzzled. Loki had to agree-he might not look optimally healthy as of yet, but he thought he appeared much better now than he had the last time he had been in Asgard, and especially immediately after having been ill. He had put on just enough weight for the change to be noticeable, and the shadows under his eyes had receded considerably.

"A mother knows when something has been amiss with her child," Frigga responded in a tone that dared either of her sons to pose an argument. Neither did.

"I am feeling much better now, Mother," said Loki, trying not to look as exhausted as he felt.

"And I am ever so glad to hear it, my love," said Frigga, running her fingers tenderly over the dark leather of his right vambrace. "But all the same, I think you ought to rest now. You have had a long journey."

"Should I not present myself before the king first? It would be improper to reside here without first showing my face in the throne room, would it not? Especially after the..." He cleared his throat slightly. "...less than smooth nature of certain recent encounters between the two of us."

"Rest first, then we will see Father. He will understand." Thor's voice was gentle, but it forbade argument all the same. Loki nodded, grateful for his brother's understanding. He had not wanted to see Odin without the clearest of heads, but he had brought up the subject so the others would not believe that he was attempting to avoid all interaction with the king.

Frigga walked with them toward the bedchambers, resting her hand on Loki's arm the whole way. Thor walked at Loki's other side, ready to lend a supportive arm should his brother stumble or waver. To an onlooker, it would have seemed as though the brothers were merely walking side by side. Loki knew that Thor was doing this on purpose, and he was secretly thankful for his brother's discretion. He did not want to appear weak or as an invalid to the rest of Asgard. Criminal or not, Frost Giant or not, he was still their prince, and he would still have his dignity. He knew that Thor could tell just how unsteady he was feeling-not only from his illness, but from the worry of what possible repercussions being back in his homeland, the place where he had recently experienced a terrible and traumatic punishment, might bring for him. But Thor was the _only_ person he was willing to let see how troubled he truly was. The fact that his mother seemed so attentive to his condition worried him a little. He would allow her to care for him and dote on him to her golden heart's content-he owed her that-but he did not want her to really _see_ the turmoil he was currently experiencing.

"Well Thor," said Frigga as they walked, her voice jerking Loki out of his worried state of mind. "Just when do you plan to tell me what you have done to your hand?"

Thor looked down at his right hand. It had been healing well, and Dr. Banner had confirmed the night before their departure that Thor would recover full function of the appendage. He was already using it far more frequently, and kept it wrapped in a thin, stretchy cloth rather than the thick bandage he had begun with.

"I...I injured it. In Stark's tower-the mortal's dwelling. I accidentally broke one of his decorations and cut myself whilst cleaning up the glass. It is quite all right; it is nearly healed."

_Oh, please._ It was all Loki could do not to roll his eyes.

Obviously, their mother was not fooled either. "Thor, I love you to Valhalla and back again, but you are absolutely the worst liar in the Nine Realms."

"I am not!" Thor automatically jumped to his own defense, looking affronted, even though he doubtlessly knew his mother spoke the truth. Loki knew his brother bore no illusions as to his own lack of talent in the deception department.

"Yes, you are," said both Loki and Frigga simultaneously. It would have been a rather comic moment had Loki's stomach not been churning like a storm-incensed sea. The next question out of his mother's mouth was going to be "what really happened?", and then Thor would be forced to tell her the truth. But the outcome of the situation surprised him.

"If you do not wish to share the details of the injury with me, then I will not press you. I am sure you have a good reason for wishing to keep this from me," Frigga told Thor. "But you must promise me you will have Eir see to it as soon as possible."

Loki saw Thor's eyes flick over to meet his gaze for a fraction of a second. They were full of relief. "Thank you, Mother," said the thunderer. "And I do promise."

Frigga smiled at him, and then at Loki. It was a knowing, understanding, loving smile, and it made Loki's heart pound with the sudden realization that she _knew_. Perhaps not for certain, but Loki was positive that his mother could tell that Thor had attempted to lie to her in order to protect his brother. Maybe it was because his brother was so infuriatingly predictable. Or perhaps it was simply more of that motherly instinct of which she seemed to possess incalculable amounts. But either way, she knew that Thor's injury was Loki's fault and that Loki felt terrible about it. And she was trying to let him know that it was all right. He felt his stomach practically turn over in gratitude, and it was all he could do not to reach over and grasp her hand as tightly as he could.

Walking slowly for Loki's sake, it took them far longer than normal to reach the royal family's chambers, but Loki was grateful for the opportunity to be in the presence of the two people he loved most in the world. Just before they reached the large network of rooms that was set aside for their living area, Frigga left them to inform Odin of his sons' return. She placed a kiss on each of their cheeks and said she would be back very soon. Loki delighted in the fact that he actually looked forward to her coming back to visit him. It was nice to no longer feel the need to wish his mother would forget about him. But when he and Thor reached Loki's chamber, his contentment dissolved into fear and discomfort. He stopped just short of the door, making his body rigid against Thor's gentle push.

"What is the matter?" his brother asked softly, immediately ceasing his attempts to urge Loki forward when he realized they were being resisted.

"Couldn't we go to your chamber?" asked Loki, turning pleading eyes upon him.

"Why would you want to go to _my_ chamber?" asked Thor with an incredulous chuckle. "You always told me the bright red decor hurt your eyes, and that it was disgustingly neat. You said you could not understand how someone could function without at least a little bit of chaos in their quarters."

Thor was right. Loki had said those very things many a time when they were younger. His own chambers had always appeared as though a herd of rampaging bilge snipe had stampeded through it. Clothes, papers, and books were always strewn about the floor, the desk, the vanity, and the closet, often so much so that it was difficult for anyone to walk. It often took Loki longer than it should to find something he needed, yes, but it was worth it-he had always thrived on chaos. To him, it was the natural order of things-it only made sense. Things in nature and in life always tended to become more disordered rather than less-for example, if you dropped a glass, it shattered into a million pieces, but it was nigh impossible (unless one used magic) to put back together. That fact was why Loki had always felt most comfortable around disorder.

Except things were different now. He didn't really feel like the god of mischief anymore. Disorder and disarray were what were present in his nightmares, which were still unpredictable and continually finding new and stranger ways to twist themselves together and invade his subconsciousness. Now he only wanted peace-to curl up in Thor's arms and have everything in his life run smoothly and orderly for once. He wanted to sleep without nightmares. And how could he do that in the very room where they had first been inflicted upon him?

"Please Thor," he begged. He did not want to have to explain himself-he was too tired and the more he thought about it, the more uncomfortable he became. He knew Thor sensed it, but instead of giving in and redirecting the both of them to his own chamber, the thunderer wrapped his arms around Loki and pressed him close. As frustrated with him as he was, Loki submitted willingly to the embrace.

"Loki, sleeping away from your own chamber will not make a bit of difference in your nightmares. You must face this."

Loki inhaled sharply. He should have known Thor would guess the problem; it seemed as though their strengthened relationship had led to an increased perceptiveness in his normally thick-skulled brother. He was about to protest vehemently when Thor whispered in his ear,

"I will not leave you, brother-dear."

It was such an obvious thing, now that Loki thought about it. Of _course_ Thor would be there with him. His mind had been returning to that horrible week during which he had not left his chamber at all, rejecting Thor's company and comfort. He had forced himself to endure his trials alone. But now, he remembered, he need not. His brother would be there with him to help him come face to face with his inner struggles and hopefully, in time, beat them into submission. And that realization gave him just enough strength to concede to Thor's bidding.

"All right," he whispered. Thor squeezed him just a little bit tighter for a moment before letting go, and then clasped his arm as he opened the door. Together, the two of them entered the room.

Loki's chamber appeared exactly as he had left it the day he and Thor had traveled to Midgard nearly a month prior. Unlike during his childhood and adolescence, the room was neat. Only a few of his emerald green accents remained-his curtains and bedding, for example. His chambers had been cleaned shortly after his alleged death, and most of his belongings had been put into storage. Thor had said that it had hurt their mother too much to see his chambers as he had always kept them-that the memories associated with them had been too much for her to bear.

Thor led Loki to the bed and helped him out of his regalia, undoing the difficult buckles since Loki's magic was still out of his reach. Despite it only being early afternoon, Loki donned his nightclothes, which were crafted out of a soft green silk. After making a brief trip to his own chambers for some more comfortable clothing for himself, Thor then turned back the covers of Loki's bed. They both climbed in, Loki with his back to Thor and Thor with an arm stretched protectively over Loki's body. If anything wanted to get to Loki, they would have to deal with Thor first. _If only nightmares worked that way, _thought Loki dryly. _They would all run quaking with fear in the face of the mighty thunder god, and I would never suffer from them again._

Unfortunately, he knew that that was not the truth of reality, but all the same, he felt much safer than he had thought he would. The dreams would still afflict him, that much he knew, but he no longer needed to face them alone.

And when Frigga came to check on her sons half an hour later, she gazed upon their sleeping forms and smiled. Her boys were not only home, but they had found each other's love once more. There was yet hope.


	27. Chapter 27

**And so it goes, all good things must end. This is the last full chapter of _The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me_. I want to thank each and every one of my readers and reviewers, and especially my consistent reviewers, for all of your support of this story. It took me six months to write this, not including editing, and by the time I was finished it was a part of me. To share it with the world and have it receive such an astounding reception was an amazing experience. So thank you, kind Loki fans! I do plan to produce more works in the universe of _The Door That Shouldn't Be In Front Of Me_, so subscribe to my author page and stay tuned! Also, DON'T FORGET ABOUT THE EPILOGUE! :D**

As the weeks passed, Loki's health continued to improve steadily. He and Thor took to taking daily walks around the palace's extensive gardens, and they were often joined by Frigga. At first, Loki found the need to stop and rest upon one of the stone benches that adorned the paths, but he was soon able to walk through the entire gardens without tiring himself out. Thor pointed out his progress with an enormous smile on his face, and Loki wasn't sure which made him happier-this milestone in his recovery, or the joy in his brother's eyes.

He and Thor had been to see Odin the day after their return to Asgard. While Loki's adoptive father had not exactly come running to him with open arms the way Frigga had, the king had apologized sincerely for the misunderstanding with the magic extraction. What had struck Loki the most had been how much the Allfather seemed to regret not taking more time to learn about the Jotun race when he had adopted one of them as his child. The old Loki would have laughed coldly and smirked at this realization-after all, it was a bit late, was it not? But while he felt nothing close to gratitude for this tiniest of steps in the right direction, Loki had decided that he would withhold feelings of hatred for the Allfather until he actively did something to deserve them again. He had merely nodded at the king, and they had exchanged a moment of silent understanding, if not something resembling compromise.

It was not long after their return to Asgard that Loki woke up one morning feeling as though something had changed. At first, he could not place it, but the feeling kept pricking and pushing at his subconscious. It was not a bad or uncomfortable feeling, but rather one of odd excitement. But what had he to be excited about? Loki had not been sure until he had done his routine probe for his magic. He had developed a habit of reaching back into his mind to check on the progress of his hampered powers. While they no longer left a hole within him as they had when Odin had taken them from him, whenever he tried to harness the energy that would allow him to perform a spell, he found that he was incapable. But not that day. When he reached back to tap into that reservoir, suddenly the magic was flowing through him like sparks along a dry ground. He had sat up suddenly in bed, his breath coming in excited gasps.

_I mustn't rush it,_ he had thought, trying to remain calm. _I am still weak, and if I tire myself out I will only make the magic inaccessible again._ So, he had tried one of the simplest spells he knew, and it had resulted in a tiny flame licking harmlessly at the edges of his fingertips. It was not much, but was all that he needed. His magic had really and truly returned to him. This realization had brought him so much joy that he had begun to laugh, so much so that Thor had awoken beside him looking very puzzled. But when his brother had seen the flames, he had joined in the jubilation, and Loki had had barely enough time to remember to snuff out the fire before returning Thor's happy embrace.

All was well until the day a messenger came saying that there were Frost Giants in Asgard. The brothers were lounging on the front steps of the palace, enjoying the sunny day. Loki was delighted that he was able to sit in the soft sunshine and not feel overly warm. But suddenly his insides had become very cold upon hearing the message, and when he turned to look at Thor, he saw that the first prince's expression was grave.

"How many?"

"Three, my liege. One of them is King Helblindi himself."

Thor's eyebrows shot upward.

"Do they seek battle?" That question came from Loki.

The inquiry seemed to take the flustered servant back a bit. "I am afraid I do not fully take your meaning, my liege. They are not armed."

Loki shook his head. "A Frost Giant's weapons are not visible until they are needed. But never mind-they are doubtlessly here to retrieve what belongs to them."

Thor growled under his breath as Loki dismissed the servant, but Loki shook his head at his brother. "They will have what they came for. What right have we to keep the Casket from them?"

"They would have had you _dead_, Loki."

"And I deserved it. You did not, but it was my head they truly wanted. But that does not change the fact that Asgard stole the Casket first. It rightfully belongs in Jotunheim."

"Loki." Thor turned to face him and took his hands into his own. He spoke gently, as though he knew he was treading upon thin ice, as it were. "What I meant was, when I last spoke to Helblindi, he was very angry, both over Laufey's assassination and my previous attack on his realm. Doubtlessly he is even more incensed now, after we took back the Casket. If we give the Jotuns their power back, they are going to use it to attack Asgard."

Loki sighed. Thor was right, he knew. Relations between the realms had been strained for centuries, with abject hatred erupting beginning with Thor's attack and becoming exacerbated by Loki's little moment of regicide. Returning the source of the Jotuns' power to them would be like placing a sword in the hands of a homicidal maniac-they would be sealing their own fate.

But there was something else. Something that pricked at his consciousness, like a mayfly that buzzed in his ear and would not leave him alone. It would take sheer dumb luck to accomplish, Loki knew, but it was the only possible way to prevent a war. If Asgard kept the Casket, the Jotuns would no doubt attempt to steal it again, and there would be more blood. Loki had enough blood on his hands. It was time to end this.

"We will return the Casket to the Jotuns," he said, rising to his feet.

"Loki..." Thor began in a tone of warning, standing in order to be at his brother's eye level.

"Their realm is broken, Thor. You have seen it with your own eyes. It decays and crumbles and becomes more of a barren wasteland by the year. The books in the palace library depict Jotunheim as a once beautiful place. If Asgard had been desecrated in such a way, you would stop at nothing to return it to the way it was, would you not? The Jotuns have done horrible things, I know. But so have I, and still you showed faith in me, Thor. Without your faith I would not have had the opportunity to heal as I have been. Should we not be the better people, and at least allow the Jotuns the same chance?"

He almost could not believe the words that were coming out of his own mouth. Not so very long ago, he had striven to destroy the entire realm of Jotunheim, and mocked his brother for trying to stop him. But now he wanted to restore the snowy wasteland to its former glory? What had gotten into him?

_Is it because I am coming to terms with being one of them?_ He wondered. _Not hardly. I still cannot bring myself to gaze upon my true form in a looking glass, and I squirm uncomfortably when anyone __speaks of my heritage. No, it is something different. I do feel a kinship with the Frost Giants, but not because we share blood. It is because we share a predicament. My life is as broken as their realm. We might not be able to put all of the pieces back together, but perhaps we can put patches and bandages over the most damaged parts._

Thor's expression had softened during Loki's monologue, and now he reached out to clasp an affectionate hand on his brother's shoulder.

"I agree with you, brother. When I confronted Father about the Casket he urged me to reconsider my decision to go to Jotunheim because I was putting myself at risk. He said that the Jotuns would show me no mercy. I told him that they might surprise us, because of them already had." He smiled softly, and Loki blinked rapidly to try and disperse the tears that had formed in his eyes. Damn his recent emotional sensitivity. And damn Thor for being so sweet.

"I just hope you are right," Thor finished with a resigned sigh.

"So do I," murmured Loki, turning his gaze upon the helm house, where he knew Heimdall was retaining their Jotun visitors, with nervous anticipation.

Their horses were quickly saddled, and they cantered side by side down the rainbow bridge, Thor on his huge white stallion and Loki on his bay mare. They brought the horses to a halt when they reached the helm house, dropping the reins as Loki cast a quick spell that would quell any desire either mount had to wander off back to their stable.

Helblindi and two of his warriors stood just within the archway, held in place by the imposing sword and unwavering gaze of Heimdall. Loki had met the young Jotun king when he was a warrior under his father's command, and Helblindi had been one of the small group of Frost Giants he had concealed and smuggled into Asgard so that he could kill Laufey as he attempted to assassinate Odin. He could feel those crimson eyes boring into him with a hatred unmatched as the Jotun caught sight of him.

"You." Helblindi's voice was low and sneering as the princes came to a halt in front of him. Thor, his frostbitten hand long since healed with Eir's help, clutched Mjolnir tightly, but Loki touched his arm briefly in a gesture of reassurance. Ignoring the hostility of Helblindi's comment, he spoke calmly.

"My greatest apologies for the delay, Your Majesty. My brother and I give you our sincerest welcomes. What brings you and your warriors here?"

Helblindi seemed a tad taken aback by Loki's politeness and lack of animosity, but his eyes narrowed all the same as he said,

"Do not play the fool with me, Trickster. You know precisely what I have come for. We seek to reclaim what is rightfully ours, what your beloved brother stole from us to save your miserable little life."

Once again purposefully not paying attention to the Jotun's jabs, Loki gave a respectful dip of his head.

"But of course. Here is your Casket." With a wave of his hands, he produced the Casket of Ancient Winters from where he had magically concealed it within his sleeve. As he held it out for Helblindi to take, he saw the not quite familiar royal blue begin to run up his arms, the elaborate ridges winding around their lengths. He swallowed down his humiliation and waited for Helblindi to remove the Casket from his hands. But the king of the Jotuns made no move to accept his long-awaited relic. Instead, he just watched until the blue color consumed Loki's entire body and Loki looked up at him with crimson eyes to match his own.

"Tell me, Trickster," rumbled Helblindi in a voice not quite as hostile as before. "What is it about this form that you so despise?"

Loki felt his heart begin to beat faster. Where was Helblindi trying to accomplish? He dared not look over at Thor-he wondered if a Frost Giant's cheeks could burn with shame. He knew his brother had seen him in his natural form before, when Loki had, in a fit of delirium, inadvertently given him frostbite. But all the same, Loki desperately wished Thor could not see him at this moment.

"The Silvertongue has no answer for me?" inquired Helblindi with a mixture of mockery and disgust. "Or are their simply too many flaws to name?"

Before Loki could think of what to say in response, Thor spoke from his place beside him, his voice low and determined.

"It matters not what Loki looks like-he is still my brother whether he is in his Aesir form or his Jotun form. Nothing about him is different now from the Loki I am used to seeing. At least not to me."

_Oh, Thor..._ Loki felt the Casket being removed from his hands, and when he looked up again his hands were ivory and Helblindi held the relic. The king breathed a deep sigh, as though the Casket's power were washing over him like a refreshing rain.

"The Casket is yours," Loki said, suddenly finding his silver words again. "Asgard will not try to take it from you again-of that you have my word. I am sorry for the previous animosity between our realms, and I hope that you will consider this return a gesture of goodwill."

"Well, hasn't Odin made you into quite the little diplomat," scoffed Helblindi, but there was less scorn behind his words now. He was studying Loki, and the feeling made Loki's skin crawl. It was all he could do to resist the urge to scratch at his arms against the uncomfortable sensation. Helblindi turned to Thor then.

"I hope it is clear to you now, Asgardian, that the Jotuns are not the savages you think we are. We have thoughts and emotions just as you do."

Thor stood tall. "When I am king, I can assure you I will do everything I can to dispel the myths and stereotypes concerning your race amongst my people. They will know that which you have just described, just as I finally do. I am only sorry that it took the revelation of Loki's heritage for me to realize how very much alike we all are."

Helblindi nodded. "I am given to understand that you are a poor liar; therefore, I believe your words. Your blind loyalty to your brother has served you well in this case. I only hope he will one day learn to accept our kind as you have." He glanced meaningfully at Loki, who felt his stomach churn and swallowed hard. Then, Helblindi motioned to his warriors and they went to stand in front of the transporter in preparation for leaving. Heimdall, receiving a nod from Thor, moved into position.

"We accept your 'gesture of goodwill'," Helblindi told Loki. "But make no mistake-your actions against Jotunheim will never be forgiven. Laufey was reluctant to go to war with Asgard, and therefore I will withhold war with your realm in honor of my father's memory. But if you cross me again, I will have no choice but to retaliate. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Loki, and he meant it.

Just as Heimdall was about to plunge his sword into its slot and send the Jotuns home, Loki blurted out, almost without thinking.

"I would like to see it. Jotunheim, I mean. Once you have used the Casket to restore it. If I...if I may?" _What am I thinking?_

Helblindi paused, and then Loki saw the smallest of smiles flick across his face.

"I do believe that can be arranged."

And then, with a flash of light, he and his warriors were gone, leaving Loki, Thor, and Heimdall standing in the helm house. There was silence for several long seconds before Thor asked,

"Did we just make a truce with the Jotuns?"

"Yes, I believe we might have," said Loki softly and incredulously. He blinked and turned to look at his brother. "Thor, what you said to Helblindi..."

"I meant every word of it. Brother, you know that your true identity makes no difference at all to me. I will always love you. And I do resolve to do whatever I can to undo the stigma associated with the Jotun in Asgard. I will portray them not as monsters, but as people like us. I know it will not make up for the wrongs I have done you, but I wish to do whatever I can."

"Thank you," whispered Loki, wrapping his arms around his brother's shoulders. "Thank you, my brother."

"You are more than welcome," murmured Thor in return. "And I am pleased that you seek to build your own relationship with the Jotuns. But we should talk about it when we return to the palace." His gaze flicked uneasily toward Heimdall, his meaning clear.

"I could observe your conversation just as well in the palace as I can when you are standing here," said Heimdall smoothly. Loki thought he could hear a touch of sarcasm in his voice, but he knew that it must only be his imagination. The gatekeeper's voice was completely devoid of emotion, as usual.

Thor did not respond, instead affording him a deathly glower. It was a glare that made Asgard's enemies quake in their boots or even flee for their lives. But Heimdall did neither. He just gazed at the pair with his unblinking golden eyes.

"Come, Loki," said Thor abruptly, placing a heavy hand on Loki's shoulder. "Let us return."

Loki glanced at his brother-Thor obviously was not in the mood for argument. He did not wish to upset his brother, and so for a moment he almost agreed and followed him over to where their horses stood. But he steeled himself against the temptation. There was something he needed to accomplish.

"Actually, I would stay and have words with Heimdall, if you don't mind."

Thor looked rather taken aback.

"Whatever for, Loki? What could you possibly have to say to him?"

"Plenty, and more importantly I believe he might have things to say to me. And, though I say this with the utmost love, I would prefer you not be present for the saying of either."

Bewildered and concerned, Thor began, "Loki, I do not know if this..."

Loki stopped him by reaching out and laying his hands on his arms. "Thor, this place is heavily guarded. I will be safe, I promise you. Please, allow me to do what I need."

Thor still looked uneasy, but at last he gave a sigh of acquiescence and nodded. "All right. But you will return to the palace and find me as soon as you have finished?"

Loki agreed and Thor rode off down the rainbow bridge on his stallion, the colors emanating from below the horse's hooves like water in a disturbed pool. Loki looked after him, attempting to summon within himself the strength that he needed for this encounter. He had done very little recently without Thor's assistance-his brother had helped him through his illness and convalescence, his nightmares, and his feelings of isolation. But this was something he needed to do for himself.

"Well then, Trickster," came Heimdall's voice from behind him. "What is it that you wish to speak to me about? My acts of treason? How I deserve to be removed from my position and banished?"

"Let's not jump to any conclusions," Loki deadpanned, turning toward the gatekeeper. "What I would really like to know is the truth."

"I did not think the truth was something you cared about, Liesmith."

"Very well," said Loki. "The truth itself may remain ambiguous. But all the same, let us review your alleged crimes. When my mother came to you every day asking how her sons fared on Midgard, you told her that both my physical and mental health were improving under my brother's care, while in reality I was deathly ill and suffering from terrible nightmares. Is that the truth?"

Heimdall dipped his head slightly. "It is."

"I must thank you for that. Although the truth of the matter came out in the end, I am glad my mother was spared the knowledge of the true severity of my condition for as long as possible. However, your keeping of this information from the king and queen kept me from being returned to Asgard and receiving healing which could potentially have saved my life.

"So now for your motivation. By far the most obvious choice is revenge. I used the Casket of Ancient Winters to freeze you not so very long ago, and I imagine that you are still quite angry over that incident. I am correct, am I not?"

"You are," said Heimdall, his voice still as emotionless as ever.

"And you have every right to be angry. You have my sincerest apologies. That action was...unkind, and I am not proud of what I did. But, as tempting as it might be to leave the story there, to not look any further, I feel as though I am missing something, and that you deserve a more thorough examination. Heimdall, I know that you see all-you know everything that is happening at this moment in every corner, every tiny piece of the Nine Realms. But I have also heard tell that you can, on rare occasion, see glimpses into the future. Is that true?"

There was a pause. It was not a long pause, but it was just enough to make Loki, as skilled as he was at reading people from his years of telling and discerning lies, realize he had struck upon something important.

"It may be true. Or it may not be true. I choose not to answer that question."

"That is fair," said Loki softly. "But because you choose not to tell me, the rest of what I will say is pure speculation. Suppose you _could_ see into the future, and you caught a glimpse of my future, or Thor's, and you saw us together, as friends and brothers, accomplishing something important that benefited something greater than us. Perhaps a treaty between Asgard and Jotunheim? Despite your recent acts of treason, Heimdall, I know for a fact that you love Asgard and would do anything for her. She is your home, and you are her keeper. And if keeping her safe involved Thor and I learning to work together, then I think you would want to do everything you could to ensure that happened. Even if it meant allowing me to tread the very line between life and death. Because that was what it took. Any less and I feel my transformation would have been incomplete.

"If the first guess is true," he continued, "if you lied to the king and queen about me out of revenge, I hope that we can now consider ourselves even, as the mortals say. I froze you, and you allowed me to almost die. I hope that we can now wipe away our past and begin anew. And if the second guess is true..." Loki swallowed and studied the gatekeeper's golden eyes with the utmost scrutiny. "...then I must give you thanks of the highest amount. Even if your goal was the welfare of Asgard, you helped my welfare through it. Yes, I almost lost my life, but in doing so I gained something so much more precious. I have my brother back."

Loki blinked several times, trying to make the tears recede back into his skull. Once more, he thought he saw a flicker of emotion across Heimdall's unchanging face, but again, he knew that he must have imagined it. When the gatekeeper said nothing, Loki continued,

"No matter what your motivation, your crimes do not deserve a sentence such as death. I would try to see it commuted to banishment, but I realize that for you, being forced to leave the realm you love and never return would be a punishment far worse than death. So I will speak to the Allfather regarding alternative options. I do not know how much he respects my opinion after everything that I have done, but I will speak with Thor as well so that your case has more support. I hope this is pleasing to you, good Heimdall."

The gatekeeper gazed at him unwaveringly for a very long moment before finally speaking.

"It is. My thanks."

"And you have mine. Good day, Heimdall."

"Good day." The sentry sounded reflective and thoughtful, and maybe even a bit surprised. Loki almost expected him to call after him, to have a change of heart and tell him the exact truth of the matter But of course, Heimdall did no such thing. Loki supposed he should not be surprised.

Loki mounted his mare and set off at a slow and rhythmic canter back to the palace, watching the colors shooting along the bridge's length in front of him. There was truly no other place like Asgard in all of the Nine Realms, and despite all of the painful memories he had associated with it, he was still very glad to be home.


	28. Epilogue

**STOP. STOP RIGHT THERE. THIS IS A DOUBLE UPDATE! IF YOU HAVE NOT READ CHAPTER 27, DO SO NOW! Then read this. Thank you! ;)**

"I say we go for a night on the town," suggested Stark enthusiastically.

"I don't know, Tony," said Banner, sinking down into a recliner in the lounge of Stark Tower and leaning against its back with a tired sigh. "We've been working on repairs since dawn. I'm pretty worn out."

"Aw, come on. You're such a party pooper. I bet the big green guy wants to party, huh? I bet he's a party animal..." Stark was silenced, however briefly, by a cushion flying in the direction of his head and connecting squarely with its target. Banner smirked.

Unfazed, Stark turned to Loki. "What about you, Rudolph? I know you want to come. There will be dancing. You like to dance, right?"

Loki, bringing his newly-brewed cup of tea over to the couch, sat down with his legs crossed under him and scoffed. "I highly doubt your Midgardian dances are anything like what we perform on Asgard. And besides, the doctor is right. We have accomplished a large amount of work today, and you mortals need time to rest your weak bodies so that we may continue tomorrow."

Stark snorted while Loki exchanged a covert smile with Banner. Thor, who had scrounged up a pre-dinner snack of wildberry PopTarts, plopped down next to him, munching contentedly.

"I believe what my brother actually means is that he does not care to listen to any more of your drunken caterwauling," he said through a mouthful of crumbs. "And for once, I must agree with him."

"You don't sing any better than me, Thunder Boy," shot Stark, causing Loki to smirk.

"How would you know, Stark? You were _plastered_," Rogers spoke up from his place on the futon.

"Hey, Grandpa's learned a twenty-first century word! I'm so proud." Stark smiled broadly. Rogers, Banner, and Loki rolled their eyes. Thor merely looked puzzled.

"You mortals are very odd. Sometimes I consider calling upon Heimdall to return my brother and me to Asgard merely to escape your strange ways."

"I actually find them rather amusing," said Loki slyly.

"Then I shall return alone," Thor teased.

"You would not go anywhere without me, Thor." Loki's tone was playful but knowing. The brothers exchanged affectionate smiles.

"How about this, Tony?" asked Banner. "Natasha and Clint will be back from their S.H.I.E.L.D. assignment tomorrow, and Pepper will be back from Chicago. We'll all go out tomorrow night. Is that okay?"

Stark made a great show of folding his arms over his chest and sighing dramatically.

"Oh, _okay_. If you _insist_. Honestly, what I don't _do_ for you people...wait, does that mean I get to pick what we watch tonight?"

"Fine," said Banner with a resigned sigh.

"STAR TREK!" announced Stark immediately. "The new movie this time."

"Not again," groaned Rogers. "I never have any idea what's going on."

"You mean like in real life?" teased Stark.

"They quarrel more than _we_ do, brother," whispered Thor incredulously to Loki, who chuckled softly.

When the movie began, the arguing ceased and the friends settled back in their seats to watch. Nestled next to his brother on the couch, feeling tired but well and continually more at ease around the Avengers, Loki was the closest he had been to being happy in a long time. It was far more than he could have asked for not so very long ago. He even had a place where he-dare he think it?-_belonged_.

"_Jim, I'm a doctor, not a physicist!"_ announced a frustrated Bones on the screen. Everyone laughed and looked over at Banner, who of course happened to be both a doctor and a physicist.

"Sounds like they could use you on the U.S.S. Enterprise, buddy," chuckled Stark.

"Have you ever thought about going into space, Bruce?" inquired Rogers curiously.

Banner chuckled. "No. I don't think me on a spaceship would be...a good idea." His tone was dry, but not bitter.

"Why do we need a spaceship?" asked Thor. "We can have our own adventures here, my friends. I know I, for one, am looking forward to many more."

_So am I,_ thought Loki suddenly. _I am looking forward to having adventures with...these people._ The realization warmed his heart. He did anticipate all the adventures to come, yes. But tonight he was content just to be in the cheerful and welcome company of those he was quickly coming to call his friends.

_"Oh write me a beacon so I know the way, guide my love through night and through day..." - Emily Barker & The Red Clay Halo, "Nostalgia"_


End file.
